


Graveyard Orbit

by JackHawksmoor



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackHawksmoor/pseuds/JackHawksmoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise is attacked by a telepathic horror. The consequences have far reaching implications for Kirk and Spock's unique relationship. K/S, First published in T'hy'la 31, a 'why-Spock-goes-to-Gol' fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graveyard Orbit

 

 

 

 

Graveyard Orbit-n. an orbit significantly above synchronous orbit, where spacecraft are placed at the end of their operational life.   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He shoved the crew member's body aside, and the thing that had once been James T. Kirk looked up and smiled. Spock, the science officer, had already moved to help him to rise, and he grasped the offered hand with an easy familiarity that anyone who knew Kirk would recognize. Spock, his friend Spock, looked white and shaken, and did not pull him to his feet.

The entity inhabiting Kirk pulled himself up with Spock's hand, watching the Vulcan's reactions carefully. Spock could be used, if it was fooled. Surely it was fooled — he folded space minutely and regarded his own outward appearance with satisfaction. The illusion was correct, it was perfect. Kirk's brain suffered a minor stroke in reaction to his work, and he ceased.

There was no significant damage. Kirk's processing speed was reduced by only .03 percent. These beings were absurdly simple and regrettably fragile. The Vulcan was slightly sturdier — it might not retreat into madness so soon.

He looked down at the body on the floor, then back up at Spock. The creature who had been Kirk gave Spock a silent, appreciative glance that the Vulcan had seen countless times before, and patted its arm lightly.

Spock, his trusted companion, barely managed not to flinch.

There were seventeen possible futures that branched from the main line with that action. The entity regarded each of them whole for a moment, pulling himself demensionally slightly sideways out of his host. The captain's heart responded immediately and negatively, and the entity quickly desisted.

Fragile things...

“Spock?” he asked with careful concern. His grip on the Vulcan's arm tightened just slightly. “You all right?”

Spock gave him a cool expression of mild disapproval that James T. Kirk, had it been present, would have recognized well. Thirteen futures.

“Quite all right, sir,” Spock replied, as if it was in bad taste for Kirk to even ask. 

The thing now wearing Kirk's face relaxed a fraction, and let Spock go. Five futures. “We've got to get to Scotty,” he mused, looking down the hall at the comm unit on the wall.

Out of the corner of his human eyes, he saw Spock edge away from him a minute amount, as if it found Kirk's proximity difficult to bear. One future.

Appalling lack of control for a Vulcan.

Without hesitation, he whipped his arm out and grabbed the first officer's neck. Spock may not have had Vulcan decorum, but it did possess Vulcan strength. It twisted away from the entity's borrowed hand, bolting down the corridor.

Unfortunate, but not surprising, and in line with the general flux of the correct future chosen. That strength would have been useful, as would his technical skill. Kirk, however, was a fine enough prize on its own, brimming with the knowledge they needed, and so the entity wearing its skin was quite pleased enough. He did not give chase, but looked after Spock thoughtfully.

Any person who had ever served with James T. Kirk during a crisis would have known the expression he was wearing was a dangerous one.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------

The lower decks were largely deserted on yellow alert, and Spock sagged against the bulkhead without thought that he might be observed or discovered. He lowered his head and put a hand over his face, trying valiantly to gather his thoughts.

The captain would... the captain...

Spock focused, for a moment, on gaining control of his own breathing. He could still... sense something from the person Jim Kirk had been. He had felt it the instant Jim had changed. There was only a moment, a pinprick of shock and fear, and then he was gone. There was some fragmented impression... like a vast, dark wave of sound, snuffing Jim's thoughts out like a candle flame.

What Spock could feel now was something else entirely. The perceptions, if they were perceptions, were almost impossible to process. He did not possess the capacity to understand what he was sensing. It was deeply distressing. The... noise... it was quite literally maddening. Spock was not certain how long he could...

The ship. The ship. Jim would, he would never forgive...

Spock looked around, forced himself to straighten away from the wall. He was on deck 10. He touched the identifying panel on the closest door. The physical sensation was soothing.

He needed to get to a computer station. Spock straightened in alarm at the thought. He needed to get to a terminal immediately. He could not say how long he had stood there, wasting time, while the imposter wearing the captain's face made plans.

Spock ran down the corridor, made a left, and ducked into a small, secondary computer station. It was unmanned at the moment, and Spock dove for the controls. If he could lock out the computer before –

The computer, literally beneath his hands, went dark. The lights dimmed slightly in the room. Spock let his hands drop to his sides, defeated. The imposter's next move would undoubtedly –

“This is the captain,” came a voice from the wall speaker. A voice that was currently echoing through every corner of the ship. “All personnel are to locate and detain Mr. Spock. He has escaped from sickbay, and is to be considered both violent and dangerous. Take all precautions. Kirk out.”

Spock let out a breath. His options had just become extremely limited.

The thing he was now tied to stirred slightly inside his mind, undulating like a film of crude oil on water. Touching him. Spock shuddered. He thought fleetingly of the quality of Jim's thoughts, of the terrible disparity between Jim and the thing that now wore his form. Synesthesia was a common reaction when two minds touched. He thought of the sensations Jim's thoughts usually brought when they brushed against his, the slightly rough texture, the warmth and steady brightness. It was a tiny lapse, a fleeting moment of sentimentality, but the pain the memory brought was staggering. The sudden desire for what he no longer had was intense enough that it was almost a physical sensation that needed suppressing.

He realized, with effort, that he was having difficulty avoiding distraction. Spock had occasionally considered the possible dangers of the connection between the captain and himself, the effect it might have on the safety of ship and crew if a blow to the commanding officer could fell the second-in-command as well. As there was little that could be done to alter the link between them, save resigning his commission and attempting to place the galaxy between them, Spock had not dwelled upon it. Distance was the only thing he could think of that might have any hope of sundering their connection now, and disregarding Spock's own... deep reluctance to consider that action, it was by no means a certain solution.

Spock was forced to face the consequences of his choice now. He was not operating efficiently, not thinking logically.

The entity now knew McCoy was working on isolating the correct frequency to expel them from their hosts. The captain had given the doctor permission to attempt to remove the entities from several infected crewmembers, and from earlier experience, it appeared that the entities knew what their hosts knew. The imposter's next stop would certainly be sickbay –

Spock stopped. McCoy was not in sickbay. He was in the labs. Spock was not certain... he was not certain the captain was aware of it, but since the day Spock had been temporarily blinded, McCoy had never performed a test on a sentient being without a full workup on the preliminary tests in the lab. He insisted on doing the work himself. Spock did not think it was something the doctor would mention, and the captain was not often in a position to notice. Spock himself had discovered the doctor's new passion for diligence entirely by accident, and Spock had not considered it his place to speak about it to anyone.

Lab 5 was the only lab with the necessary equipment, and it was not far away. If the doctor had discovered the correct frequency, Spock had hope that a scan of his brain would prove to McCoy that Spock was unaffected. If not... he would need to, as the captain would say, 'improvise'.

He listened at every juncture of corridors, and several times had to duck inside a room or press himself tightly against a wall. Starfleet landing party duty had made him accomplished in activities that required stealth.

Spock rang the correct door and listened. On the other side of it, he heard McCoy drop his medical tricorder. There were muffled cursing and scrambling sounds, then the faint whirr of a scan running. Spock waited patiently through it, leaning slightly on the door frame. McCoy had found the frequency. They may have some chance, after all.

It was difficult to concentrate, given the faint, lingering presence of horror that lurked on the edges of his thoughts. Even without direct contact he could feel... he could still feel the place where Kirk had been, in his mind. The fact that Kirk was quite probably dead, his corpse filled from the inside by the terrible swelling and stretching of a hostile... entity... did not seem to alter the connection between them. It was a gruesome idea to contemplate. A mind, a group of minds so alien and strange as to be almost incomprehensible... and he was linked to them, unable to escape the things that had killed the man who should rightfully dwell in their place...

The door swished aside.“What in god's name is going on arou–” McCoy looked up at Spock's face, and stopped mid-word. Spock found that he was unable to force himself to care about what McCoy might possibly be seeing in his expression, about what his face was giving away.

McCoy put his hand out, and touched Spock's arm as if he was considering whether or not Spock was capable of walking.

“Spock! My God, what happened?” He ran his scanner over Spock with a frown.

“Your electrolyte balance is way off, and your alpha waves are...” McCoy stopped, lifted his tricorder. He took a careful, significant step back. “It looks similar to what I'd see if you were infected, but a moment ago you were fine–” he paused, adjusted the tricorder, frowning. “And now you're all right again.”

Spock ignored the sinking sensation that accompanied McCoy's reaction. He suspected he knew what was altering his brainwaves. Spock forced himself to straighten up, letting his hands fall away from the door as if he could not possibly ever need support to keep his feet.

“We have lost the captain,” Spock said roughly.

McCoy blanched, going pale and lowering his equipment. He stared at Spock for a moment as if not really seeing him, then looked away, his eyes suddenly moist.

“Damn it,” he breathed. “Damn it.” McCoy wiped at his eyes. “So that means, what? They know everything the captain knew? We might as well turn ourselves in! Everything you two worked out–”

“First, we need to clear this deck,” Spock said, reaching out to grasp McCoy's arm, urging him out into the hall. “The ca– the entity is no doubt aware I would come to you and has sent–”

McCoy stopped dead, putting a hand out in a sharp motion.

“Wait, that thing knows you spotted him?”

Spock dipped his head briefly, took a breath, and looked up at McCoy. He had learned that at this point in their friendship there was a certain futility in wasting effort trying to deceive the doctor regarding his own... feelings. McCoy would simply ignore him, or, worse, interrogate him, pestering him until he satisfied himself which shameful emotion Spock was currently suffering from.

When Kirk had fallen, Spock failed to adequately hide his own reaction, and in doing so, possibly doomed them all. There was no possible excuse for such a lapse, and no way to make amends save the course of action he was currently engaged in. If he had the time, and the foolishness to repeat a mistake, he would be ashamed of himself.

Spock permitted McCoy to see that. Their eyes met, and he watched understanding dawn on the doctor's face, watched his body language change. McCoy saw his weakness and softened almost instantly.

McCoy touched his arm in a gentle, entirely human gesture of support. “We'll get him back, Spock. We'll get them all back.” It was an irrational, illogical statement to make, entirely characteristic of the doctor. Their odds at this juncture were nowhere near the point where such certainty was warranted.   
Spock understood the sentiment, however, and found (with some concern) that the longer he knew McCoy, the more he appreciated the solidarity implied in such statements.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, pivoting his body and applying pressure to the doctor's back in order to get him to move. “However, if we are to have any hope of salvaging this situation we must act swiftly.”

“What now?” McCoy asked smartly. He did not say 'commander', but the way he spoke left little doubt where McCoy's loyalty lay. Against his will, Spock was warmed by the gesture. At the moment the doctor was, Spock realized with a painful twinge, his only friend.

Spock steered McCoy swiftly down the hall, turning left, away from Lab 5. “We must get to engineering with the correct frequency. Computer functions have been locked out of all stations excepting, presumably, the bridge and, provided Mr. Scott is still with us, engineering. We will need to– ” Spock stopped, turning his head sharply.

Footsteps. Five pairs, a standard security team. Logical. It was only a matter of time, once the imposter failed to find the doctor in Sick-bay.

He pushed McCoy through the nearest door and followed him, locking it behind them. If the security team had progressed to using the internal sensors, the locked door would not help them.

McCoy held his breath as the security team passed by, then let it out as if he believed they were safe.

“How did you know he'd send the troops after us?” the Doctor asked, his voice hushed.

Spock lifted an eyebrow. “It is what the captain would do.” 

McCoy grimaced.

Spock took a breath, wishing he had time to formulate the best approach to take in order to get the doctor to respond logically. “I am a danger to you, Doctor,” Spock began. “My life-signs can be easily identified from the bridge, and the crew there has been compromised. As a human, you will have a better chance of success without me – ”

“I'm not leaving you to get captured by those things,” McCoy responded immediately, indignant.

Spock wondered, briefly, if it would ever be possible to get the doctor to respond logically.

“Doctor,” he began, and froze, his voice choking off.

The connection he shared with Kirk had been both unusual and deeply personal, a thing that over the past several years had become part of how he defined himself. It was unusual in that it was informally and naturally created, without deliberate intent. The resulting link between them had often waxed and waned in intensity, at some points pulling Kirk's thoughts nearly as close as a mind meld, and at others leaving them almost as separated as if they had never touched each other's thoughts at all.

Spock felt a ripple of thought that was not his and was not Jim's. It was vast and hostile, so strange and terrible Spock could not understand the shape of it, the purpose of it, not even so simple a thing as how or why or where. It did not care and it was suddenly everywhere, weaving its way in along pathways meant for another to use. Spock twitched in shock and horror as it pushed close enough for the sounds to come clear. Somewhere, in some deep place of stillness, Spock heard the screams.

His head rocked back, and he drew a long, ragged breath.

McCoy was panting, and Spock's face stung. He raised a hand to his cheek, and the memory surfaced, belatedly. McCoy had been forced to hit him several times. He blinked and lifted his head, realizing he had slid down the bulkhead onto the floor. It was good the doctor had thought to strike him — the release of endorphins was often beneficial to the Vulcan nervous system. McCoy had learned a great deal since Dr. M'Benga had been stationed aboard. He heard McCoy's scanner whirring, but it seemed oddly far away.

“Spock? Look at me. Spock?” McCoy touched his face, which disturbed him. The doctor hissed several times, and a moment later, Spock's head began to clear.   
“Bones,” Spock said, and the Doctor eyed him with that strange, strict control of emotion he would often evidence in situations where his medical skills were sorely needed. “He is alive,” Spock explained.

McCoy frowned at him, scanned him again.

“Just take it easy a minute, Spock. You nearly went into shock for some reason – ”

“The captain,” Spock said, and McCoy went silent. “I believe the captain is alive. He is – ” Spock gestured, reaching into empty air “ – he is there, Doctor, beneath the intelligence consuming him.”

Spock looked up at McCoy, his voice gaining urgency. “If that is the case, then it is possible that all the individuals effected are in a similar state. If the entity is removed or destroyed, they can be saved.”

McCoy gave him a deadly serious stare. “Spock,” he began roughly, “I know that there's something odd between you and Jim. Some kind of...” he spread his hands, “connection. I've known the both of you too long to dismiss it, and I've got a rotten suspicion that it's what's causing your trouble now.” He leaned down. “I was scanning you while you had that little fit, and I saw what it just did to your stubborn Vulcan brain. So you can go ahead and insist you're fine, but you'd be talking to the wall,” McCoy pointed vigorously at the bulkhead, “for all the chance you have of convincing me. You have got to know you're not thinking clearly.”

Spock looked at McCoy's outstretched hand for a moment and tilted his head, frowning slightly.

“For what purpose,” he began slowly, “Would I wish to converse with the bulkhead?”

McCoy tightened his lips and actually seemed to swell up slightly.

“Spock!” he said with force, striking his thigh with his fist. McCoy's face was growing flushed. “Are you even listening to me? I was watching your brainwaves a minute ago, and they came damn close to the readings I've been getting off Chekov ever since we beamed up from that godforsaken planet. Now if you say you can tell what's going on in Jim's head, that's just fine, but it's not doing you any favors!” McCoy seemed to be barely restraining himself from shouting, looking quite overcome with destructive, violent emotion. Any Vulcan witness to such a display would certainly find it alarming, the being caught up in it dangerous and most likely irrational.

Spock tilted his head as if conceding a point. “You may be correct, Doctor” he said. He put a hand out, and pushed himself onto his knees, moving to lever himself upright. “Unfortunately, our course of action must be the same regardless of my state of mind.” He wavered a little and McCoy moved swiftly to steady him, looking disapproving.

“Your course of action ought to involve sickbay – ”

“In which case the entity inhabiting the captain will discover both of us, there will be no one to deliver the frequency to Mr. Scott, and in all probability the affected crewmembers will take complete control of the ship,” Spock replied immediately.

McCoy gave him a grim expression that he privately considered quite appropriate. The doctor removed his hand from Spock's elbow, stepping back and looking down at the floor. “There's a ladder down to deck 11 that way,” McCoy muttered, indicating the direction with a nod of his head.

Perhaps there was hope for the doctor after all.

Spock listened a moment at the door, then unlocked it and stepped into the hall. McCoy followed behind him without further argument.

They got off deck 10 quickly, and made their way to a turbolift without incident. However, Spock tensed when the lift approached engineering deck. There was...something... the thing that had been Jim was close. He could feel... Spock shut his eyes briefly, fighting with a sudden rolling wave of nausea. He touched the wall of the turbo lift as they stopped, ignoring McCoy's concern. They would need to move quickly. The entity must have thought to use the internal sensors, and pinpointed his hybrid Vulcan metabolism. He gestured for McCoy to remain, and edged out into the hall on his own.

McCoy ignored him, and moved to follow.

“Captain,” he said. He heard the doctor freeze behind him. Spock stepped forward out of the range of the door sensors and they hissed shut, leaving McCoy inside. Spock squelched a tremor of relief when he heard the lift start up, sending McCoy somewhere safer. He could only hope...perhaps, if McCoy successfully reached Mr. Scott, and implemented the change, he and the captain could both be recovered.

The thing that had been James T. Kirk approached cautiously, preceded by a small force of security men.

“Mr. Spock,” it said carefully, managing to sound concerned and wary. “You're not well. You need to surrender yourself before someone gets hurt.”

“You,” Spock said for no other reason that the pleasure of saying it, “are not the captain.”

The entity did not gloat, or grow angry, or give itself away. Captain Kirk's face looked mildly alarmed, as one suddenly confronted with a madman. The security force, still unaffected themselves, looked incredulous.

“Spock,” the entity said, Jim's voice turning gentle, “that's insane. You kidnapped Doctor McCoy. You need help.”

“I do not desire any kind of help you are likely to provide,” Spock said with bite.

James T. Kirk's echo was silent for a moment, showing every ounce of the captain at his most reasonable. It spread his hands in a helpless movement Spock knew very well, and the wrongness of it, the terrible mockery and contempt behind the small gesture strained at the last threads of Spock's control. Watching him, Spock realized his fists were clenched, and he was very near to lunging at it over the security guards and attempting to throttle it with his bare hands.

“Will you come quietly?” it asked.

Spock paused, then inclined his head slightly, lifting his hands a little as if to offer them in surrender. He did not say anything, so it was not a lie.

\---------------------------------------------  
  
Leonard McCoy was in a cold sweat. Kirk had been right there. The thing, whatever-it-was that was wearing Jim like a suit, had been right there! And Spock just strolled right out to meet it, like some willing offering to a barbaric god, leaving McCoy safe in the lift behind him. He'd buy them all time, of that McCoy was sure. Lead the imposter down the primrose path long enough for McCoy to get to Scotty, and no mind to what it might cost Spock to do it. Of all the foolhardy, bullheaded...

God help him, if they ever lit Jim up on a funeral pyre, McCoy was going to have to tie Spock to a tree to keep him from jumping into it. Spock's idiot self-sacrifice was making him go gray.

The turbolift stopped at the other end of engineering deck, and McCoy just hoped there was enough space between him and the monsters for him to get to Scotty without any trouble.

Of course, Scotty had no reason to think he wasn't infected himself.  
The lift doors opened, and McCoy poked his head out uncertainly, his heart pounding, half expecting to get himself caught as soon as he stepped out into the hall. He usually left the heroics to Jim...

Though, he had a foolproof way of telling whether he was safe or not in his own hands, didn't he? With a shake of his head at his slightly embarrassing lack of forethought, McCoy scanned the corridor.

“I don't think I'll mention that one to Spock,” he muttered to himself. “I'll never hear the end of it.”

The corridor looked clear, so he hurried toward main engineering, stopping every twenty meters or so to scan ahead, more out of nervousness than necessity. He tried not to think about what was likely going on with Spock and the thing that had hold of Jim.

Spock had practically skipped out into the hall to meet him, damn it. Every time...

The doctor frowned darkly to himself as he went. He'd tried talking to Jim about the way Spock acted at times like this, but he'd brushed McCoy off, making light of it. Of course, Jim was never there to see it, was he? Any time it looked like the captain was in real trouble – and god help them all if they thought Jim might be dead – Spock would just toss himself into danger like he hoped something would happen to him. And if there wasn't any danger handy, Spock would immediately set to trying to work himself to death.

McCoy did his best to look after him, but the blasted Vulcan had the determination of an anvil dropped out a window – he was going to hit the ground, and pity anyone who tried to stand in his way.

He glanced down at his tricorder again and stopped in his tracks. He was getting close to main engineering, and apparently someone there had noticed him coming, because two people were headed his way. McCoy swallowed hard and checked them out.

Two unaffected people. The doctor let out a breath and slumped a little. Well, provided they didn't shoot him on sight, he might be in business.

“You know,” he said to no one, wiping the sweat off his palms onto his pant legs, “I could have been a veterinarian.” He started walking toward the two probably-armed engineers headed towards him. “I could have worked on dogs and cats all day. No complaining, no getting shot at. Horses, goats, maybe the occasional tribble – ”

The engineers came into sight, and he froze, his heart racing. He lifted his hands in surrender as they each aimed a phaser right at his head.

“Ah,” he said. “Hello there, Reynolds. How's your back?”

Ensign Reynolds, who'd been in sickbay not 24 hours ago with a strained back, looked at him with cold eyes.

“Just fine, Doctor,” he said. “You'll be coming with us.”

\----------------------------------------------------  
  
  
“I presume your next action will be to take control of me,” Spock said calmly, as the security guards closed in, phasers ready.

“Spock,” it said gently, with Jim's voice. Spock clenched his jaw. “I don't know what you're talking about.” The captain, by all appearances, was quite concerned for his welfare.

“You,” he said with calm determination, “are an entity that was inadvertently brought back to the Enterprise from the planet below. You have taken control of the captain. Logically, your next goal must be to reach a populated planet and gain control of it as well, in order to spread further throughout the Federation.” Spock was not speaking for the entity's benefit, though by the puzzled and slightly hurt expression on the captain's face, it appeared he had given it a marvelous acting opportunity. “To effectively accomplish this you will need to be in control of, if not the entire crew of the Enterprise, at least all of her senior officers.”

Lieutenant Davis was approaching him to the left and slightly behind the other two security officers. He had served aboard the Enterprise for a long time. More importantly, he no longer looked entirely incredulous. There was little, given enough time spent serving on a starship, that was impossible to believe.

“The closest populated world of any great density is Beta Trianguli three.” He looked directly at Davis, while still speaking, at least peripherally, to the entity wearing the captain's form. “However, as you know, that system is almost directly opposite our scheduled course to pick up medical supplies from the Eriksson.” Spock's voice changed, grew more intense, as he watched something like doubt blossom on Davis' face. “It would take an extraordinary emergency to justify altering our rendezvous when those supplies are so vital to deliver,  _Captain_.”

“The captain altered our course for Beta Trianguli three right after the bridge located Mr. Spock with the internal sensors,” Davis said, pausing, turning slightly so that both Kirk and Spock were clear in his field of vision. “He gave no explanation...” Davis glanced at the other two security men, who now looked concerned. Davis' eyes narrowed. “I didn't even think about it. There was no emergency. No message from Starfleet.”

“Davis...” Ensign Garnier looked startled, and vaguely alarmed. Not an entirely optimistic beginning.

“I received the transmission before I met up with you on deck 8,” the entity said, sounding dismissive and vaguely impatient. It was a tone of voice Kirk used now and then, but not often with his own men.

“I've been with you for almost twenty minutes, since oh-eight-hundred,” Davis said then, and moved his phaser just slightly, so he was covering the captain. “When I saw you in the hall, you said Mr. Spock had just got past you.”

The two remaining officers looked at each other, disconcerted. The entity could order them to fire on Davis, but he was a gregarious individual, very popular among the rank and file in security, and they would undoubtedly hesitate. Spock shifted his stance, taking advantage of the split in their attention, edging into a better position to go for a nerve pinch, if necessary.

Davis raised his voice, making it obvious that he was speaking to his fellow security officers.

“If there was an emergency, the captain wouldn't have waited fifteen minutes to change course. He wouldn't have waited five minutes, not even to look for Mr. Spock.”

“Lieutenant,” the thing inhabiting Kirk began, taking a step forward. The remaining security officers made their decision almost as soon as it moved, and turned their phasers from Spock to cover the entity. Kirk paused, looking surprised, and lifted both hands slightly. “You're being misled,” it said cautiously. It glanced briefly over at Spock, and for the barest instant the rage behind its calm veneer was apparent. It was an expression Spock had seen on the captain's face a handful of times, but never directed at him. Despite the fact that it was not Jim, the sight was disturbing. “Mr. Spock is not well,” it said, managing to keep Kirk's voice almost level.

There was something missing in the entity's performance. Had it been Jim speaking, Spock doubted he would have had any hope of convincing even one of the security men to turn against him. There was something absent, some quality of charm that was lacking. An edge to a forceful personality that should be there, but was not.

“He looks fine to me,” Davis said flatly, and it was apparent from his tone of voice that he wasn't really listening to the entity any longer. Spock stepped up behind Davis cautiously, mindful of the fact that any thoughtless move on his part could shift the current state of affairs very quickly. Ensign Garnier twitched slightly as he moved, but Davis was already turning to face Spock and flicked a significant glance Garnier's way.

The ensign nodded slightly and made no move against Spock.

“Are you all right, sir?” Davis asked.

“Quite.” Spock replied. “You have my thanks, Lieutenant. I confess, I did not expect the situation to resolve itself in such a positive manner.”

“Any time, sir,” Davis replied, then glanced at the thing wearing Kirk's face.

“What should we do with him?”

Spock looked back at the turbolift.

“With any luck, Doctor McCoy has delivered the correct frequency to Mr. Scott by now. If so, we can expect a change in the captain and the other affected crewmembers shortly.” Spock paused. “Until then I believe the brig will be sufficient.”

Davis folded his arms. “I'm not sure the guards on duty are going to be thrilled about that.”

Spock tilted his head. “A valid point. However – ” He stopped, twitching slightly. Spock reached up and touched his temple. He could... he could feel... It was pushing at him. It... the sound was...

“Why, Spock, what's the matter?” the thing that was Kirk asked with delicate concern. The mockery was terrible, and a great swell of hate boiled up inside Spock. The emotion pushed back at the creeping, incomprehensible press of sound that was leaking in though the place Jim should be in his mind. Spock reached out blindly for the wall, stumbling, felt someone grasp his elbow.

“What are you doing to him?” Davis demanded. He sounded very far away.

“I told you...” The thing inside Kirk was speaking, but the roaring, the cacophony of noise abruptly drowned out all other sound, and Spock forced his eyes open, realizing with a flicker of horror that he was very near to going under. It was... it was filling him up, he could not –

Spock lifted his head, feeling suddenly as though it might be the last thing he would ever do.

It was staring at him through Jim's eyes, and it looked well pleased.

Spock was watching him, so he saw the change the instant it happened. The thing wearing Jim Kirk's face flinched in agony, an expression Spock had seen and knew and had a very strong aversion to. At that instant the pressure, the noise, melted away like smoke blown by a strong wind. Spock gasped in relief, going down on one knee, and watched as Jim contorted, his eyes rolling over white. Garnier exclaimed and moved forward as the captain fell back senseless on the deck.

Faintly, Spock could feel a slight vibration in the bulkhead plate under his hand.

“Captain,” he rasped, and lurched forward, clawing at the floor and the wall, graceless and awkward in his desperate haste. His limbs were not quite responding correctly, but he needed to... he needed...

“Jim,” Spock managed, shoving Garnier aside, kneeling beside the sprawled-out form on the deck. There was a black, sucking hole in his mind where Jim should be. Spock's heart stuttered in his side, and he felt a flicker, an quick, unstable wash of mental noise that could have been... might... He grabbed Jim's shoulders.

“Jim!” he was not calm, he was not even close to it, and he could not spare a thought to care. He reached for Jim's face, already grasping in the darkness, feeling as though he was hunting for a lost message in subspace. Distorted and broken up by distance and speed...

He could not be gone. He could not be –

“Easy, Spock!” a voice and a solid shove distracted him. “Let me get to him.” Spock heard a familiar warbling, then multiple hissing noises. He paused in his desperate search, looked up to see Doctor McCoy crouched close, running his scanner over Jim. Then, with a poor attempt at subterfuge, over Spock himself.

For an instant he felt a solid, bright flash, a distinct and unique quality of sensation that he had come to recognize as the mind of James T. Kirk. A flash at the surface, and then gone again.

“Doctor,” Spock managed, his head clearing slightly. “He is – ”

Jim groaned slightly, capturing his attention.

“Jim?” McCoy asked. Hissing.

He was there. Spock could feel him settling, feel the unpleasant skittering of random thoughts ease slightly, washes of static fading in and coming clearer.

Jim reached up and grabbed the front of Spock's uniform shirt, hard. His eyelids fluttered, not quite opening, but the attempt was made.

“Never,” Jim breathed, and incredibly, alarmingly, a slight smile curved his lips. His hand tightened on Spock's shirt, and Spock leaned closer. “Never alone...”

He trailed off, making a very faint sound that was difficult to identify.

Spock felt a chill. He was nearly certain that Jim had laughed.

“What's happening?” Davis, sounding frightened.

The sound of clothing rustling, and breathing. People crowded close around him. It was difficult to concentrate. Jim was pulling on him very hard, both physically and mentally.

“Shock,” McCoy spat. “Both of them. The captain's got it worse. That's where we're going to lose people, damn it. Shock, of all the –” there was a chirp and a pause, before McCoy continued speaking in an equally agitated and yet slightly altered tone of voice. “Scotty! You've got to get the communication system unlocked, we've got people dropping from shock all over the ship by now and I've got to get my people out after them.”

A communicator. McCoy was...he needed to speak to Mr. Scott. Auxiliary control...

“I'd love to oblige you, Doctor, but there's just no way I can do it from here.” Mr. Scott replied, sounding harassed. “We may have the engineering decks, but not the main section. This wee mechanical beastie's got them on the run, but I don't have the range to get any further than that without having to dismantle it and physically reassemble it closer to the bridge.”

Spock reached out over Jim's body and held his hand there, silently requesting the communicator. McCoy eyed him doubtfully. Spock raised his eyebrows, tilting his head and letting slip a sigh. McCoy handed him the communicator.

“Then do so, Mr. Scott,” Spock said into it brusquely.

“Mr. Spock?” Mr. Scott asked, his voice cautious.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is not necessary to gain control of the bridge, only auxiliary control, now that we have the captain.”

McCoy made a sputtering noise. Spock ignored him.

“Focus your efforts on altering the position of the array to extend the radius of the field there,” Spock continued.

“I've got my lads on it now,” Mr. Scott re-plied, his voice uncharacteristically cold.

“I suppose we'll just meet you there, then, won't we? Doctor McCoy?”

“Like hell,” McCoy shot back. “If you think I'm going to let you drag the captain all over the ship just so you can –”

“Save the ship, Doctor.” Spock glanced down at the hand still clutching the front of his shirt. “His ship. And his crew. Not to mention the thousands of people that will be infected if the entities successfully reach a Federation planet.” Spock stared at the doctor silently.

McCoy was quiet for a moment, his face flushed. “Fine!” he snapped. “Fine. Yes, Scotty, we'll meet you there.”

“All right then,” Mr. Scott replied, sounding oddly relieved. “Scott out.”

“He will need to be at least marginally coherent, Doctor,” Spock said, and Kirk seemed to agree, making every effort to pull himself up using Spock as leverage. Spock moved to help him, and ended up with an armful of half-conscious, determined Jim Kirk.

“You're both worse than the other,” McCoy muttered, shaking his head as he selected a drug from his kit and fit it to his hypospray. “Playing with human life...”

“Bones,” Kirk ground out. He was distressed, and clinging to consciousness with everything he had. Spock could feel the mental strain as almost a physical sensation.

The hypo hissed against Kirk's shoulder. After several moments, when there was no discernible change...

“Time is of the essence,” Spock began.

“I've pumped him full of enough Masiform-D to win the Kentucky Derby without a horse,” McCoy snapped. “Just give him a minute.”

It did not take a minute. After roughly seventeen seconds, Kirk took a deep breath and blinked, looking up first at Spock, then at McCoy.

“I know what they're planning,” he said.

\----------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Kirk felt like he'd just climbed up a rope out of a very dark hole. It had taken hours, and there had never been one moment when he could stop, or catch his breath. No rest for the wicked. No rest for those being devoured from the inside out.

He felt cold, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he would go on feeling cold for quite some time.

Kirk hauled himself upright into a sitting position, aware he had Spock in a death grip. It felt like he'd been using Spock as an anchor for a long while. He wondered absently just who had thrown him the rope, and what exactly it had been made of.

Spock looked like he'd been put through the grinder. He looked almost as bad as Kirk felt.

Kirk got a foot flat on the ground, and heaved. Spock was right there on one arm, and Bones grabbed the other, and suddenly Kirk was up on his feet. Gasping and unsteady, but up. Kirk grasped Spock's arm, patted him breathlessly in silent thanks.

He was close. Spock was closer than Kirk could ever remember him being outside a mindmeld, and Kirk was all at once desperately grateful for that. He felt punchy and strange, and the familiar presence was like a warm cloth on the back of his neck.

“They're...” Kirk swallowed hard and staggered a step forward. He took a deep breath and gathered himself together, gently pushing both of his friends away. His head came up, his eyes sharp. “They're going for phaser control,” he said urgently, and took off. Slower than he might like, but on his own.

“Captain!” Spock exclaimed, catching up outside the turbolift.

“They're going to fire on Enterprise,” Kirk snapped. He glanced up at the lift indicator. “Come on!” he growled.

“What?” McCoy exclaimed “They can't fire on their own ship –”

The security guards caught up, looking deadly serious. Young and scared out of their minds.

“They can,” Spock replied, grave and thinking fast, his mind running hard and right alongside Kirk's. “Via the aft phasers. There are a dozen overrides, but they can do it, it just takes time and a moderate level of skill with our computer systems.” The turbolift finally arrived and they all piled in, Davis last.

“They can fire accurately on almost the entire engineering deck, and it would not be difficult to adjust the internal sensors to locate the source of the frequency that is driving them out,” Spock added.

“They're going after Mr. Scott!” Davis exclaimed, agitated.

“Precisely,” Kirk said, eyes narrowed. The lift slowed. “Hand phasers,” he prompted. “Not everyone is affected, but we don't have time for a debate. We're going right through, and I don't care if god himself is on the other side of this door.”

The security guards straightened up at the tone of his voice, lifting their weapons. Even McCoy set his jaw. Spock looked over at him with something uncomfortably like awe flickering briefly across his face. Kirk took a deep breath and set himself.

One last push.

The lift stopped, and he charged out, only Davis ahead of him, everyone else fanning behind. They turned the corner –

“Make a hole!” Davis shouted, and two crewmen plastered themselves against the bulkhead, equipment scattering on the deck.

Auxiliary Control was, as he'd feared, dark and shut down, locked out by the bridge. These things were smart, too smart. He stopped himself from thinking about how it had felt to know just how intelligent they were, to know intimately, because one of them was wearing him like a second skin...

The place was dark, but not unoccupied.

“Captain!” Scotty exclaimed, looking startled and then, appropriately, rather suspicious. The two engineers that were with him brought their phasers up. There were several bodies on the floor, that Kirk could see. His people. Alive, he thought. Some of them were alive.

If Scotty had been taken they were in trouble.

Davis and his men responded, tensing and lifting their own phasers. Kirk stepped in quick before things got ugly. He didn't think... Kirk didn't know why, but he didn't think one of them was in Scotty. It didn't feel right. He had a hunch that he would know, that he would be able to tell, somehow. Besides, Bones had his tricorder running, and he hadn't started yelling yet.

“It's me, Scotty,” Kirk affirmed, and Scotty glanced behind him. Kirk flicked his eyes that way, but it was only Bones standing there and he didn't have time...

“They're going for phaser control, Scotty. They're going to blow a hole in this ship wide enough to drive a shuttle through, and your wave inducer is going to be so much junk floating in space if we don't stop them,” Kirk shot off heatedly.

Scotty looked momentarily mortified. Whether it was at the thought of the damage to the Enterprise, or the destruction of the only piece of equipment they had that could drive the entities from their hosts and end this nightmare, Kirk could not say.

Scotty's gaze turned inward. “Aye,” he said, then nodded, looking shaken. “Aye, they could do it.”

“Spock and I will handle the transfer, you get that thing within range of the bridge before they fire on my ship,” Kirk said, and Scotty straightened.

“Aye, sir,” he said, then “come on, lads!” and ran out.

He walked over to Spock, who had darted over to the science console the moment they'd all got through the door. Kirk had to step over a crewman's body as he did it. McCoy was crouched beside the man, and paused in his scan to watch Kirk do it.

At times like these, Kirk had a sneaking suspicion Bones hated him a little. 

He stepped close to Spock and touched the console with the tips of his fingers. Spock angled his head in Kirk's direction without taking his eyes off the screen in front of him.

“Encryption, sir,” he said simply, knowing what Kirk wanted. 

The bridge crew had tried to secure their position. Who was up there? Chekov was in sickbay... Sulu. Uhura. Kyle.

“But you can crack it,” Kirk replied, no doubt in his voice. Spock reacted to that confidence, glancing briefly in his direction.

“Yes,” he replied, “however, if you have any insight into what code the entity may have used –”

Kirk shook his head, waving his hand slightly as if to push that notion aside.

“I didn't have access to that kind of detail. I could only see...” Kirk paused, and rubbed his eyes, wishing he could wipe away the headache pounding away behind them. His heart was beating hard and fast, and he was sweating.

“Images... impressions of what was going on. The creature had far greater knowledge of me than I did of it.”

There was heavy sympathy in Spock's eyes, and it usually took a hell of a lot to get him to be that blatant about it.

“I'll need a few moments then, Captain.”

Kirk nodded, and Spock focused once more on the screen. Kirk could still feel Spock's thoughts hovering very close, but not quite touching his own. Like Spock was warming his hands around a metaphorical fire. It was... it helped. There was something wrong, some-thing that bothered him. A nagging little hunch in the back of his mind that made him think that when he had a moment to process what had happened he might just realize he'd lost some sanity. Feeling Spock close helped, it... settled him, somehow.

He stepped back and knelt down by McCoy, the body of one of his crewmen be-tween them. McCoy lowered his scanner with a helpless kind of disgust.

“He's still alive, barely,” the doctor said. “I've got to get him to sickbay.”

Kirk glanced around at the others. “What about –”

“Dead,” McCoy spat. The disgust sharpened on his face. “Shock.”

Kirk looked at the body beside him in surprise. McCoy gestured violently with his hands. His voice, when he spoke, was thick with anguish. “Jim, if I'd gotten here in time –” Bones shook his head. “This is treatable.”

“Spock, communications?” Kirk snapped off.

“One more moment, Captain –”

Kirk swallowed the shout, that they didn't have 'one more moment'. Spock was doing his best. Spock always did his best.

“Davis,” he said instead, “take your men, help get Doctor McCoy and this man to sickbay. There are injured and dying crew members, probably at key positions all over the ship. Get someone over to security, coordinate and start getting these people medical help. We should have communications up...” he glanced at Spock's back, “momentarily.”

Davis nodded sharply. Kirk stood up, trying not to think about the dead men lying around him. The dead men he was responsible for. McCoy stopped at the door and gave him a strange, considering look.

“See to your patient, Doctor,” Kirk said, not in the mood for sympathy. Or whatever it was Bones was feeling that made him look so uneasy.

The door hissed shut behind them, and Kirk was left with a roomful of corpses, and Spock. He took the opportunity to lean briefly against the back of a chair, his eyes lingering on a woman in sciences blue lying in the corner. He remembered her face from the science lab Christmas party, but couldn't recall her name.

His head was buzzing nicely. He was exhausted to the point of pain, but whatever Bones had given him was something serious, because he actually had to think about it before he noticed it. His body was roaring too loudly to really concentrate on just how tired his brain really was.

“Ensign Amanpour,” Kirk said quietly, looking at her. Something shifted uneasily inside him. It... did not feel like him. It felt like...

“Captain,” Spock began, but didn't have to finish, because the lights came on and the displays flashed brightly. Then, sounding much more alarmed,

“Captain, they are preparing to fire on Auxiliary Control –”

Kirk felt a sudden ripple of...could he hear... something?

“Computer, lock out all phaser controls and divert primary bridge functions to auxiliary control, authorization Kirk alpha six –”

Spock chimed in immediately, knowing there needed to be two officers of command rank to authorize it and there was no time –

“Authorization Spock –”

Kirk choked, and reached out blindly for something to grab onto as something stabbed deeply into his thoughts, a screaming, howling mad thing, desperate and dying and reaching out for any shred of contact, anything that could save it –

Kirk did not feel himself hit the floor. He only knew that the pain stopped.

Sensation came in pulses, like the beating of his heart. Like the engines of his ship.

Every muscle tensed and he gasped, his eyes flying open. He was drenched in sweat, his heart hammering away in his chest. Whatever McCoy had given him was still winding a searing path through his veins, keeping him from staying under.

They hadn't completed the sequence his ship –

As Kirk lifted his head to look around wildly, some voice inside him was already calming him. Spock was there. Spock would take care of his ship. He could trust –  
And then he saw Spock, sprawled out beside him, from where he'd obviously spilled out of his chair onto the floor. His face was slack. He was out cold.

Kirk stared at him for a split second, a chill gripping his soul. He lurched for his feet, something very close to panic squeezing his chest, looking up –

There, standing above both of them, was Mr. Scott. He was white as a sheet. Kirk gaped at him for a moment, his mind scrambling with the fact that they were not, after all, going to die in the next three seconds.

“Scotty,” he managed, wonder making his voice soft. “How did you...?” Scotty looked down at him. He looked like a man who needed a stiff drink, badly.

And Spock –

“Spock,” Kirk said intently, moving to him. He leaned down and pressed an ear to his back, letting some of the tension drop from his shoulders when he heard his heart beating, a little too fast, but strong. Gently, Kirk turned him over. Spock's head lolled jointlessly, and Kirk took his hand and placed it carefully on his stomach. He really did look terrible, and for the first time Kirk had the luxury to wonder why.

He shot a glance up at Scotty, his head clearing a bit.

“Report.”

“Captain,” and it was strange, but it felt like somehow Scotty meant it when he said it this time, and hadn't, before. “I was,” he paused. “Doctor McCoy and I, we had ourselves a discussion, and we agreed that it would be best to keep an eye on the two o' you, seeing as,” Scotty gestured with one hand toward him,“as you were both affected, and all.”

“Both?” Kirk asked sharply, narrowing his eyes.

“Aye, sir, the Doctor was saying to me Mr. Spock could, ah,” Scotty shifted his eyes to the right, “sort of tell what was going on with you, if you get my meaning, and he wasn't... holding up so well.”

Kirk's heart sank, the truth of it unfolding in front of him whole cloth. He clenched his jaw, and nodded once.

Scotty looked relieved that he wouldn't have to get into specifics.

“Well, he– that is, Doctor McCoy, noticed in the brain scans that these wee beasties were leaving something behind them when they left, like a backdoor, he was saying, and he figured... we figured it best to make sure they wouldn't try and make a repeat appearance in either of you, while they were still loose on the ship.”

Kirk followed the line of his arm down to where he was still gripping the console.

“So when I sent Bones to sickbay-”

“With all the security guards, to boot,” Scotty added with a frown, “he called me to come down and make sure,” Scotty looked briefly apologetic, “make sure you were you, sir.”

Kirk let out a long breath.

“Good job, Scotty,” he said, and sat on his heels. Good god, if Scotty hadn't been there... His eyes strayed down to where Spock still lay senseless on the deck. Kirk would probably be laid out right beside him if he didn't have some kind of rocket fuel still pounding its way through his system.

Sometimes, if he concentrated, he could feel what was going on with Spock. Vaguely. Sometimes. Now there was nothing. Pain. Something dark and awful there, waiting for the lightning in his veins to wear off. He couldn't tell if it was from Spock or from inside himself.

Spock wouldn't be lying there at all except for this thing they had between them.

“I was just outside, when I heard you give the order, sir.” The implication was that it had been close. Very, very close. Scotty shook his head once, took a deep breath, and released the console. He swallowed and punched in a few things.

“Communications are back up, Captain.” Again, that tone, as if he really meant it. As if nothing pleased him more than calling Kirk captain and not doubting it.  
Kirk shoved aside the vague, growing sense of horror that had started to creep up on him.

“Get sickbay to start sending out emergency teams, if they haven't already. Have someone get down here for Spock. And get me the bridge,” Kirk said, and forced himself to his feet, shivering slightly from the cold. He'd be all right for a while. Just one more push.

\--------------------------------------------  
  
  
Spock woke in Sickbay. He was alone. That truth had seeped into his dreams, making him restless and uneasy before he was even fully aware. It was the first thought in his head once he finally dragged himself to consciousness. The place where Jim Kirk should be, needed to be was dark and silent. Not a hole, an absence, as if he had vanished from the universe.

Spock could not immediately recall what had occurred. They had successfully reached auxiliary control... he was not certain what had followed. Jim's mind had been so close — the change was shocking. Even with the mercurial nature of their connection, at its dimmest Spock could tell at the very least that somewhere in the universe, a creature called James T. Kirk existed. A faint mental white noise that Spock could not hear, but the vibrations of which he could feel.

Gone now. It was enough to get Spock off the bio-bed and sitting bolt upright immediately. He jerked up like a shot had been fired, something raw and cold like panic flaring in his abdomen. There was some commotion around him, some exclamation and sounds of movement.

Jim could not be — he could not be gone–

Spock's mind fumbled with the truth, unable to process it.

He was  _alone_ –

“Easy, take it easy!” Doctor McCoy pushed at his chest, attempting to keep him prone, his voice rough and annoyed. It was within his normal parameters of emotional response, which in most cases meant the situation was not dire. With the doctor, it was difficult to say. Spock tried to catch hold of him, to force him to settle from his distracting emotional reactions and answer him–

“Where is– where–” Spock demanded, giving him a shake. The doctor's eyes were very wide, he was saying something–

Spock was... he was alone... it...

He released the doctor, clutching his own head. The doctor hissed at him. He hissed... it...

Hypospray.

Spock went still. He lifted his head. There were instruments all over the floor, Nurse Chapel was calling on the intercom in a panic, and the doctor had been pulled almost entirely off his feet and onto the bed. He looked rumpled and was eying Spock as though he might strike out at any moment.

Spock gazed at the disarray around him, then deliberately laid back on the bed.

“My apologies, Doctor,” he began, struggling with something very like shame. He forced down his reaction to the horrible, aching absence in his mind. He continued in a reasonable tone of voice, hiding his alarm nicely. “What is the situation?”

The doctor gave him a measuring look. Spock raised an eyebrow. After a moment, the doctor relaxed slightly. “Good morning to you, too, Spock.”  
Spock endeavored to look harmless. McCoy exchanged a glance with Nurse Chapel. After a brief moment, the doctor made a small gesture, and the Nurse gave him an incredulous look.

“Thank you, Christine. Call them off,” the doctor said, and the Nurse turned back to the comm unit, looking exasperated.

“Everything's fine, Spock,” The doctor began, which was such a gross generalization, Spock had to force himself not to grit his teeth. The doctor rubbed absently at his arms, undoubtedly where Spock had applied too much force. The doctor saw Spock watching him, and reacted to something he saw on Spock's face, much to Spock's displeasure. “So am I. Don't worry about it.”

The doctor then glanced away, which gave Spock a reasonable basis to be concerned about what the doctor's next statement would be.

“Scotty's in command,” the doctor began.

Perhaps he made some move, some sound, because the doctor was suddenly wide eyed and close, his words coming fast.

“Easy, Spock, Jim's in his quarters, medical orders, I saw him myself not two hours ago.”

Spock glanced around, disquieted. If the situation was indeed, 'fine', it was unusual for the captain to be away from sickbay when Spock was injured. Spock had to viciously manage another wave of despair the thought brought, the certainty that something was very wrong, that any Kirk that might appear would not be Kirk, just an echo of him.

Spock noted that the doctor had not said that Kirk was fine. Past encounters led him to believe this suggested that there was, indeed, something amiss. The doctor was not an accomplished liar. He was aware of this, and worked around the limitation, taking refuge in careful wording or wild, illogical distractions in order to avoid the necessity of outright falsehood. It was a technique that no longer worked well on Spock, though the doctor still had some success utilizing it against the captain, on occasion.

Spock gave the doctor an impatient look and waited. The doctor responded by fidgeting slightly, glancing away. He then began to chastise Spock for frightening the Nurse. McCoy was concerned for his health, then. The doctor was reacting as a physician, and attempting to spare Spock some distress.

Spock sat up and took a deep breath, glancing over at Nurse Chapel, who was still hovering by the wall. “Please, Doctor,” Spock said quietly, knowing that courtesy was some-thing that nearly always gained him a successful outcome where the doctor was involved. An option of last resort.

The doctor blinked at him, then pressed his lips together in a thin line, breathing out forcefully through his nose. He turned. “Nurse, could you give us a minute?”

Looking doubtful, she left.

“There is something wrong,” Spock began. He was uncertain how to broach the topic with the doctor, was uncertain of his possible reaction should Spock inform him that he could no longer sense the captain's thoughts at all. The nature of their connection was somewhat frustratingly variable. There had been more than one occasion where knowledge of the captain's well being would have enormously helped Spock's tactical situation, had he been able to sense it. He trusted the doctor enough to believe that Kirk was, at the very least, alive and aware enough to be safely alone in his quarters.

What was disturbing was how complete Kirk's absence seemed. As if he had scooped out any trace of himself, had built a wall, had turned from Spock and walked away. It left him feeling cold. He was alone in his own mind, and he could not recall the last time he had felt that way.

It was not something he would have ever thought Jim would do.

“Can't fool you for a minute, can I,” the doctor began, alarming him.

Spock opened his mouth to demand more information than that.

“We lost fifty people,” McCoy said, shocking him silent. “Fifty,” the doctor repeated quietly with a startling amount of force. He glared at Spock. “I could have saved them. I could have saved every last one of them if I'd just gotten there in time–” McCoy banged his fist hard against the wall and turned away from him. “Stupid, senseless waste of life.”

Spock found himself quite distracted by the force of his reaction to the news. He watched the doctor square his shoulders as if he carried a great weight.  
“There are ten more I had to put in comas, six that are going to need at least some psychiatric care in a properly equipped facility, and three,” McCoy lowered his voice viciously, “Three! That in my medical opinion are even vaguely fit for duty.”

Spock reached out and touched his arm. Two fingers on blue cloth. The doctor glanced back at him, startled. He hesitated, meeting Spock's eyes. Then he shook his head and stepped away, brushing the hand aside and rubbing at his face.

Jim was... much more adept, at dealing with the doctor when he was like this.

“I guess I should be grateful,” the doctor continued, sounding bitter. “If it wasn't for Scotty we'd have lost a hell of a lot more than fifty.”

Spock felt a cold sliver of alarm work its way in. As if there was some memory he had misplaced that would cause a great deal of trouble, once it was recovered.   
“Mr. Scott?” he repeated, mystified.

The doctor gave him a hard look. “Don't you remember?” He stepped close, and began to run a scanner over him, looking abruptly both concerned and professional. “What's the last thing you remember?”

Something inside him recoiled violently from the question, as though the doctor had prodded an open wound. Spock ignored the impulse, frowning slightly. They had arrived at auxiliary control. The captain had sent Doctor McCoy to sickbay, sent the guards to start coordinating efforts to tend to the injured crew.  
Jim had been so close to him. Spock ached with the thought. Their minds had sought each other out. After being forced into intimacy with the entity who had stolen Jim's place, it had been such a relief to feel him where he should be in Spock's mind. His familiar presence had been desperately welcome.

And then...

The entity reached out, and dragged them both down into the incomprehensible, hellish throes of its death. Spock felt it take Jim, rushing in, one great, vast wave of noise that soaked in along their connection to one another, blackening it and sweeping Spock away. It pulled itself in, tearing at him in panic, or rage, or some other reaction too strange and unnatural to a being with his set of senses to attempt to grasp without complete madness.

It was as though something too large had been crammed inside Spock's mind, something corrosive and not meant to operate under the scientific laws that governed the universe Spock's mind resided in. He was stretched and twisted in a way no mind was ever meant to.

It had only been an instant. If it was anything like what the infected crewmembers had experienced... Spock could not imagine how Jim had ever lasted so long. He regarded the empty place in his mind where Jim should be, but was not. He thought, with a chill, that perhaps Jim had not lasted.

“Spock?” the doctor said gently. Spock became aware that he was experiencing a physical reaction to the intense unpleasantness of the memory, and forced himself to calm. He relaxed his grip on the bed frame.

“I am aware that the captain and myself fell victim to the entities last effort to survive,” Spock began, pleased when his voice was even. “We–” Spock tensed, the memory connecting, and looked up sharply at McCoy. “We did not complete the transfer of primary functions to Auxilliary Control.”

“Lucky I sent Scotty down to check on you two after Jim ordered everyone out, then.”

Spock lifted his eyebrows, startled. Spock's stomach was twisting unpleasantly, and it was not due to one of the doctor's dubious concoctions. “You did not believe the captain and I were entirely free of the entities influence.”

The doctor's mouth twitched up at one corner. “Good thing, too.”

“Indeed,” Spock said faintly, looking around at the absence of Kirk in the room. He felt a cold stirring of understanding begin to well up. He abruptly wanted very badly to lie down again.

Kirk had absented himself from sickbay. Kirk had absented himself from Spock. In every way possible.

McCoy sighed, looking down at his feet. “Jim hasn't been the same since he got the casualty list.” He let out a puff of sound that was strangely unpleasant. “I don't suppose any of us has. You know how he can be when we lose somebody–”

“The captain is not responsible for the deaths of those crewmembers,” Spock said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

“Of course not–” McCoy began. He looked up at Spock's face, and stopped mid-sentence. He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, specifically?” The look on the doctor's face was suddenly wary.

“The captain,” Spock began, and it was a triumph when his voice came out even and calm, “was incapacitated throughout much of this event. On occasions when the captain is incapacitated, the first officer–”

“Now, wait just a minute–” The doctor's eyes had begun to widen as he spoke.  
“–Is responsible for the well-being–”

“Spock!” McCoy sputtered, aghast. “You can't think–”

“Doctor,” Spock said, as if to chide him, “as you well know, the fault is mine. I allowed my emotions to adversely affect my judgment, and the death of those crewmembers is the result of it.”

The doctor gaped at him.

Spock did not speak of what weighed most heavily on his mind, what had had most likely turned the captain from him. He would not explain the terrible truth behind the moment in auxiliary control when the captain had fallen, and Spock had crumbled after him. He was the first officer. It was his duty to stand over the captain's body, when necessary, and finish the job he started. To stand when the captain could not. Spock had compromised them. Not only the trust between them, but their ability to command the Enterprise effectively.

Spock felt, instinctively and without doubt, that causing that loss of effectiveness was a sin his captain would find more difficult to forgive than any other.

Spock did not say these things. They were... too close... too...

He needed his control now. Very badly.

“As a result of my connection with the captain, I failed to act at several key moments that would have drastically improved the tactical situation–” Spock did not say 'former connection', he did not have enough information to speculate, but the thought roughened his voice. A small flaw in the beginning of what would be an otherwise perfectly controlled, emotionless explanation.

“That's enough!” the doctor said firmly, cutting him off before he could do his Vulcan heritage proud. He jabbed the air near Spock's head. “My god, I could pound on that hard head of yours with a hammer all day and not cram one lick of sense inside!”

Spock stared at him, momentarily caught off guard by the strange imagery.

“Now, you listen,” the doctor hissed, seeming to promise dire things if he did not. “There are three people on board this ship that came out of this thing with the majority of their sanity intact, and two of them weren't held by those things for more than five minutes. I'm pretty sure the only reason the captain is up in his quarters and not in a blasted coma,” the doctor's voice grew more intense, “or worse, is this thing you've got between you. So don't you dare blame yourself for that.”

Spock was silent.

Fifty people. Fifty lives lost. Because he had failed to control himself. The Enterprise might have been destroyed.

“Spock, you saved the captain,” McCoy insisted. “You saved the damn ship–”

“It is quite apparent,” Spock said with desperate control, “That it was Mr. Scott, not I, who saved the ship, doctor. A fact I believe the captain is well aware of.”

The doctor's expression changed dramatically, as if Spock had just said something that had completely given himself away. “Fine,” the doctor said then, quieter. “Fine. What do I know, all I've got is a medical license.”

“Then, if I am fit to be released from sickbay...”

The doctor stared at him for a long moment as if Spock was hiding nothing from him. It was... highly disconcerting.

McCoy nodded his head at the bio-bed. “Lie down,” he said.

Spock complied. For a few moments Spock watched the doctor at work, forcing his thoughts into ordered lines. The doctor, unsatisfied with what the sensors on the bed were telling him, examined him with several of his hand-held scanners as well. Finally he stepped back, looking disgruntled.

“Your blood pressure's a little low. Even for you,” McCoy said, almost as if he was unhappy there wasn't something else wrong with him.

Spock sat up and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“You're fine to be released,” the doctor admitted. “I've got orders from the captain for you to report to him immediately. But–” McCoy snapped, snagging his arm before Spock could exit. Spock, who had already risen to his feet and moved toward the door, stopped in his tracks and regarded the doctor with some resemblance to patience.

“He's not himself right now,” the doctor said, earning him Spock's complete attention.

“It would be helpful if in the course of your duties, you would occasionally attempt to be more precise,” Spock said wearily, noting the concern on the doctor's face and smothering his own reaction to it.

He could not risk feeling anything. Not now.

“And it would be helpful if in the course of your interactions with your friendly neighborhood doctor you'd smile and make pleasant conversation about the weather,” McCoy said in a very dry voice, as if Spock had just said something amazingly stupid. Spock lifted his eyebrows, an instant reaction to the suggestion of weather on a starship, but the doctor plowed ahead, switching subjects smoothly as if the two were somehow related.

“I was hoping you could talk to Jim. Now I think you should just tell him exactly what you told me, about who you think is really responsible for all this. Might be the best thing for him to hear.”

Spock swiftly managed a flicker of anger at the doctor's flippancy. “I do not see how hearing the details of my conduct will do much to improve the captain's state of mind.”

A smile touched the doctor's lips and he shook his head slightly. “I know. Believe me, I know you don't.” Bizarrely, that seemed to be the entirety of his thoughts on the matter. “I suppose I've got used to it,” the doctor muttered, once more changing the subject without warning. “You talk to Jim when he's acting like a damn fool, he talks to you when you act like you've got a computer up your back end, works out pretty well.”

Spock gave him a look, as if his random observations were so grossly illogical they were beyond correction. It did not deter the doctor in the slightest.

“I suppose there had to come a day when you were both down and out at the same time,” the doctor said thoughtfully, coming to his point in a way that wrenched at Spock's already-tenuous emotional stability.

Spock was silent a moment, the doctor's words echoing his own thoughts unpleasantly. “That, Doctor, is the heart of the problem,” Spock said quietly, surprising the doctor, who looked at him as if concerned. He slipped out of McCoy's grasp and moved toward the door.

“Spock!” the doctor called, and Spock paused without turning. McCoy's voice went soft. “Go easy, all right? Neither of you is in the best shape right now.”

Spock tilted his head, then left without responding.

As he made his way to the captain's quarters, Spock framed a careful line of reasoning. Under the circumstances, there was little hope in salvaging his career. The choices he had made while in command could provide adequate material for several lectures worth of classes at Starfleet Academy on poor decision making. He could not see how the connection he had formed with his captain's thoughts could be kept from the admiralty, given its importance to the events that had just occurred.

Unless both the doctor and the captain intended to grossly perjure themselves, Spock would no doubt shortly find himself on the wrong end of a good deal of uncomfortable scrutiny. The fact that the connection that had so warped Spock's ability to reason had been formed without the captain's consent would undoubtedly come to light. Spock might, if the report to Starfleet was received very well, merely be given an inconsequential position be-hind a desk somewhere far from any real responsibility. He doubted they would be so kind.

The loss of so many crewmembers would not be taken lightly.

Spock was not disturbed by this. On the contrary, it was somewhat of a relief. He was responsible. He would be punished. It was no less than he deserved, and before the turbolift had even dropped him off on the correct deck, Spock had made the decision to offer no defense for his actions, should one be asked for.

It was possible that Captain Kirk, given their... friendship–

Spock's right hand curled into a fist. Consciously, he loosened it.

It was possible that the captain might attempt to excuse Spock's actions, or even gather the blame onto himself. It was possible. Though the fact that the captain had turned away from their connection made it unlikely. The probability was greater that Captain Kirk had, after being given a concrete example of the danger involved in the current... intensity of their association, decided that it was no longer worth the risk of continuing.

Spock paused in front of the captain's quarters. He lifted his hand and rang for entrance. When he looked down Spock saw that his hand was shaking. He pressed his lips into a thin line and let out a long breath through his nose, let his hand drop loosely to his side. The door opened before he had entirely composed himself.

Once the door was open any thought of composure was thoroughly wiped from his mind. He was seized with the same terrible certainty that had gripped him upon waking in sickbay. Something was wrong. Obscenely wrong. For a single, sickening moment Spock was certain he would enter the room and find the entity smiling mockingly at him from behind Jim's face. It was as though the room was empty inside, even though he knew Jim was waiting for him there.

In that one moment Spock would have given a great deal not to enter.

But Jim looked up at him as he stepped inside, and Spock quickly chastised himself for indulging irrational thoughts. The only thing behind Kirk's face was weariness.

He looked hurt, Spock realized with an unpleasant twinge. Hurt and unable to hide it. Then Kirk straightened up, and for a brief moment Spock recognized the considerable force of will that he was using to hold himself together. 

Spock saw these things with his eyes, but of Kirk's mind he could feel nothing. It was like being blind.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk greeted brusquely. “Report.”

Spock stood at ease, and outlined the events of the last day. He left nothing out, spared himself no humiliation. He had not been capable of hiding his own reaction when the captain had been taken over. He had failed to lock out the computer in time, had put the doctor in danger. Had, in fact, needed the doctor's aid to avoid collapsing entirely.

Kirk sat listening without offering comment, only asking questions to clarify. His face, his manner, was utterly familiar and reassuring. This was the captain. Threadbare to a frightening degree, but himself.

He was so far away from Spock, it was as though he could never be reached.

Spock thought this, and briefly bowed his head under the weight of it. It was not a surprise– Spock had deduced his probable reaction on the way to the captain's quarters– however, the truth was surprisingly difficult to bear. The chief emotion Kirk was regarding him with was indifference.

“Thank you,” Kirk said, his voice gentler than it needed to be. Somehow, impossibly, acknowledging Spock's reaction and accepting it. “For your report,” he added. “It just might be the last one you give me, for a while. I'm expecting to receive orders to put in for refit before the end of the day.”

“Sir?” Spock asked, not quite... processing information correctly. The thought that surely this could not be his final word on the matter collided with the distressing realization that the captain was facing difficulties beyond what would be expected to occur at the end of such a disastrous mission. Spock should have reasoned it out himself.

“We lost too many men,” Kirk continued as if he had not spoken, his voice softer at the mention of their casualties. Jim continued in a more confident tone of voice with barely a pause. “They won't be able to justify assigning us new personnel, not when we aren't even supposed to still be out here.”

Spock should have seen it himself as a possibility, as soon as McCoy told him the number of crewmen who had died. The lapse in his reasoning was concerning.

“We are well past the end of our stated five year mission,” Spock said, gathering his scattered thoughts as well as he was able. “Starfleet has shown very little desire to see you anywhere but in the captain's chair.”

“I wondered when it would happen. They've had us chasing emergencies for almost three months now.” Jim even managed a slight smile, after speaking. It was difficult to watch. Spock had seen Kirk wearing that particular smile when facing down stubborn diplomats, and unfriendly native government officials, and admirals who were simply wrong. The expression was professional and cold, and to Spock's familiar eye, could not quite hide the fact that he would like the conversation to end soon.

Spock cleared his throat, stung by this strange new reaction to his presence. “I believe our error was our continuing success in resolving them.”  
Until now.

Kirk looked up at him as if he could hear the thought. Spock was certain, terribly certain, that he could not. However, at this point in their working relationship it was often evident that the captain knew him well enough that at times, telepathy was superfluous.

“Until now?”Kirk said, as if he only needed to clarify that he had the choice of words correct. The look on his face was thoughtful and rational. “Its possible you might have made different decisions if you'd known a little less about what it felt like to be...” Kirk's expression faded a little, the veneer of normal-ity wearing away to show something cold and unpleasant beneath, “...inside one of those things. I might have, too. One of the burdens of hindsight, Mr. Spock. Often the path we should have taken seems far too clear after the journey is over.” He glanced down.

The placement of the lighting was such that he appeared surrounded by shadow, the light spilling from the crown of his head, over his shoulders. The set of his shoulders...

“You blame yourself,” Spock realized.

Kirk looked up at him with a knowing, appreciative expression, as though he had just made an expected but nonetheless brilliant chess move. “I am responsible for the actions of the crew under my command.” He leaned back and took a breath. “My report will reflect that, regardless of any... feelings you might have otherwise.” Jim lifted his eyebrows a little, possibly at the look on Spock's face. “Dismissed,” he said.

Spock could not help but suspect that Jim had used the word 'feelings' as a deliberate attempt to distract him from what Jim was doing. The fact that even now he was still attempting to protect Spock was quite damaging to whatever small vestige of emotional control he still had.

Jim was... most kind.

“Captain,” Spock said quietly, and then pressed his lips together so his voice could not shame him further. He shut his eyes briefly, then forced himself to begin again. He could not allow this. He could not allow–

Spock looked up, and the words stilled in his mouth. Jim was staring at him as if Spock had wounded him somehow, merely by speaking. Even if he had not just proved it once again with his actions, his expression alone would have served to reassure Spock that James T. Kirk remained his friend.

At that moment, something gave.

The sense of wrongness that had been plaguing him ever since he had woken in sickbay once again gripped his spine. Kirk was sitting there in front of him, but he was not. He was hollow. Torn inside, dark and cold–

The sensation cut off abruptly, like a door closing.

Kirk stared at him with eyes he could barely recognize. “Careful,” he said, and it was as though his voice stripped all the ambient heat energy from the room. For a moment, he sounded like the thing Spock had feared he would find in Kirk's place.

Spock took a step back, understanding blooming into horror.

Jim folded his hands on the desk, and Spock watched the monumental effort it took Jim to pull himself back, to appear unharmed. Gathering the shards of himself together with nothing more than will, and the thunderous force of his own personality.

Jim made no sound, but Spock heard a small, choked noise spill out into the room regardless. He realized it was himself, and tore his eyes from Jim, his mind working furiously.

Spock was a fool. He had thought to assign abilities to Jim that he could not possibly possess. James T. Kirk was so often capable of doing the impossible, Spock had not realized the fact that this time, the impossible was firmly out of his reach. Spock had thought Jim had turned away from him. Deliberately and completely, despite his lack of training in mental disciplines. He was so unusually dynamic, it made him capable of much more than should be possible for an untrained human being. Spock had been so sure, he had not even considered any other possibility.

The captain had not turned from him. He was, in fact, almost completely incapable of reaching anyone at all.

“Jim,” Spock said, and moved forward. He may have intended to throw himself across the desk. Upon consideration, he supposed his voice gave the impression that it was a possibility. The captain's face was, again, quite indifferent, and Spock not only was not bothered by it, he was almost in awe of the sight of Jim so... sane.

Jim's hands tightened, the knuckles turning white. Something in his expression... thinned. Some barrier that was straining to the breaking point.

“No,” he said. “I need you to go now, Spock.”

Spock leaned over the desk, searching Jim's eyes. “Are you aware of what has been done to you?” Spock asked him. He could not be as sane as he appeared.

He simply could not be.

The entity... the imposter had damaged Jim. His mind had been torn. Human beings were unused to dealing with telepathy, and their medical care reflected this. It was not surprising that McCoy had not seen it in the results of his tests. Spock was unsure if Starfleet even offered a test that could diagnose what Spock had known the moment he brushed against Jim's thoughts. He supposed if the doctor had tried to re-verify the captain's psi-rating, he may have been able to deduce what had happened, given the high probability that the results would affirm that Jim was now suddenly almost completely psi-null.

He must be in agony.

A corner of Jim's mouth twitched up. “Trust me, I 'm better off than most of the people affected. They were alone against that thing.” Jim's voice changed a little, went dark and chill. “But we both know, nowadays, I'm never alone.” He gave Spock a pointed look. It was as if the door shutting him out cracked open, just barely. It was, in all likelihood, the most that Jim was capable of now. “Isn't that right?”

The heat system that included the captain's quarters was no longer in equilibrium. That was the only explanation for such a rapid drop in temperature.

“I am aware, Captain,” Spock replied, sick.

He had been thrown dangerously out of center. Faced with the fact of Jim's injuries, there was a growing fury burning at the edges of his thoughts. Jim was his friend. Jim was his brother. His. Spock could not allow this to continue. What had been done to Jim was obscene, it was sickening, and he could not abide it while he had the means to help. No Vulcan could, not in one who was–

Who was–

His, something dark and fierce insisted. Jim was his.

“Then you know why you should go,” Jim said, reaching out and turning his viewer in Spock's direction.

Spock was not entirely surprised to see that Jim had been reading a rather obscure article about the possible avenues for treatment in individuals with just his sort of affliction. It had come out of the Vulcan Science Academy, and both the risks and the injuries the Vulcan healers had faced in their studies of the treatments were highlighted.

They were by no means negligible — a participating healer had been forced to retire after the study, his telepathic abilities permanently damaged. One of the victims in the study had been his wife. The strain had proved too much for his mind. It was not surprising that the healer had insisted on participating – married couples who were telepathically separated often suffered greatly. In such a situation logic often became impossible to maintain. It must have been quite intolerable.

Spock stared at the screen for a long moment after he had finished reading it. Jim had never come so close to pressing him about the nature of the connection between them. The fact that it was this paper he was studying suggested that he at least suspected there was more to it than what Spock had told him. The very few facts that Spock had told him.

Jim trusted him. Had trusted him so thoroughly, for so long.

Spock swallowed shame. “No, sir,” he said quietly. He took a step to move around the edge of the desk, to better reach Jim.  
Jim watched him with narrowed eyes, turning in his seat a little. “I'm making that an order, Mister. Out.”

Spock paused, only a step away from him. His eyes strayed from Jim's face to his hands. “Some,” he began, his voice hoarse, and he had to stop, to clear his throat. “Some things transcend the discipline of the service.”

Jim looked up at him, startled, and for a moment it seemed as if everything was as it had been. “Spock,” Jim said with gentle surprise, his eyes weary beyond all reason. He smiled faintly. “'To the gallows foot and after', hmm?” he asked.

Spock looked down, distressed, and desiring nothing more than to mend what appeared to be, surely was, his duty to mend. “Kipling, sir?” he asked, and considering the circumstance, could not fault the reference.

Jim nodded, his eyes bright in an exhausted face. Spock inclined his head in silent agreement. Jim stared at him for a long moment, and Spock thought that perhaps he might agree. But then he flashed a false smile and shook his head as if deciding anew.

“Believe me, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not going to let you risk yourself. I've read the literature. I'll heal, in time,” Jim said.

“If you have read the literature, you know that is not accurate,” Spock said, managing to ease himself a little closer without causing a negative reaction.

“To an extent,” Jim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I'll heal, to an extent.”

He sounded brittle. Fragile. The tone of his voice drew Spock in like a gravity well. “You are in pain, Jim.” Spock had lifted his hands without any conscious thought of doing so. “Let me help,” Spock said. His eyes lingered on Jim's face, on the meld points that would join them. He curled his fingers loosely, rubbing them together, hungry to touch.

Jim's eyes widened. He searched Spock's face for a moment.

A book had been written about the particular words 'let me help', and as a result, the phrase had gained a somewhat intimate connotation. Spock was aware of the secondary meaning, as was Jim. The captain had spoken of the book on more than one occasion. It seemed to be a favorite of his.  
Spock let one hand drop to rest on the desk, inches from Jim's fingers, and looked into his eyes.

“Let me help,” he repeated softly, with deliberate intent.

Jim's face warmed. He looked so tired, the transformation was somewhat poignant to witness. He tilted his head and gave Spock a very fond expression. Then, unthinking, took his hand from the desk and brushed his fingers briefly over Spock's.

Spock let out a sharp breath and shut his eyes very tightly for a moment, caught off guard.

Jim was looking away from him, human and ignorant of what he had done.

“They're taking her away from me, Spock,” Jim said, sounding fractured and bare. He did not have to specify what, exactly, he was losing. Spock was well aware of just what the Enterprise meant to her captain. Jim touched his fingers to his temple and winced as something started to slip.

Spock felt it immediately, that sense of terrible darkness. Cold and unnatural, a bone-deep wrongness that vibrated along his nervous system. Spock was seized with a kind of fascinated horror as he watched Jim catch himself, catch the torn pieces of himself that were sliding and draw them back together again.

Spock did not think he could express how badly he needed to touch Jim's thoughts in that instant. It was Spock’s place, it was Spock's responsibility. Jim was his.

Was his...

Spock's thoughts splintered slightly around the word he had tried not to realize he was avoiding.

Friend. Brother.  _T'hy'la._

Spock's fingertips slid over Kirk's hand possessively. The mental contact was delicate. Spock had to be gentle, had to take care. Not to shock, not to tear further what was already fragile.

Jim was so cold. Spock felt the point where their minds touched spread outward in a bloom of warmth.

Jim made a choked sound. He was staring at their hands, where they were touching. Slowly, as if mesmerized, Jim turned his hand over. Spock slid his fingers across Jim's palm, swallowing hard at the eroticism of the act. The warmth of the contact swelled pleasantly throughout Spock's mind. It was a very light, shallow touch of thoughts, but the affect was amplified by the familiarity of Jim's mind.

Jim's thoughts knew how to reside in Spock's mind very well, and Spock's mind knew how to accept him. Any other being in Jim's state would have been nearly impossible for Spock to reach. Jim was easily and immediately almost as close and intimate as he would be if they were melded.

It was as though something broke in Spock, painless and clean, as he accepted that he had made a permanent place for Jim within his own mind. That he was no longer complete without Jim residing there. If Jim was his, it also followed that he was Jim's.

Jim grabbed into his hand without warning, and squeezed hard.

Spock hissed in a breath, desire dealing him a swift blow to the solar plexus. He moved without thinking, his free hand darting out, spread fingers reaching for Jim's face.

Jim grabbed his wrist.

“You will stop the instant you think you're in danger,” Jim said. The tone of his voice did not simply command obedience, it expected it. As though obedience was as inescapable as the second law of thermodynamics.

Spock leaned back slightly, his shoulders dropping. He looked down, his eyebrows drawing together. This was an order he very much did not wish to follow. If he–

“Spock,” Jim said sharply, applying pressure to Spock's hand. Spock looked up.

“The moment you're in danger,” Jim insisted.

If he did not agree, Spock had no doubt Jim would send him from the room. Choose the cold and the pain to avoid risking Spock's health.

Slowly, reluctantly, Spock nodded. “Very well,” he said, his voice soft.

Jim released his wrist.

Spock reached out and touched his face without hesitation, his fingers shifting slightly against Jim's skin to find the right points. Spock took a breath, shut his eyes, and Jim was with him. It was dangerously simple, effortless, like turning his head. They were one. As if they always had been, and always would be.

A static burst of sensation, the scent of honey flickering past. As familiar as his own face in the mirror. He knew his mind, very well. Affection mixed excitingly, coming from every part of himself. He reached out, pulling closer, the scent of trust heavy and sweet, but stumbled when the reaching brought him only a terrible sense of wrongness.

He could feel it, the emptiness, the dark spaces. A mind well known but no longer whole. The sudden pain was almost crippling. It took a moment for him to force himself to continue.

He was weak in spots he shouldn't be. Here, and... here... different than they had been, should be. He pressed himself against them, warming them as best he could. It was like a stream of cold water down his back, and he shivered. 

He continued for a long time. There didn't seem to be an end to it, the ragged edges of the torn places leaving the rest unbalanced and hideously fragile. After a time, he felt his mind slowly begin to respond to him. Threads were tightening, entwining wonderfully, radiating heat. Affection warming toward something much more energetic. The pure pleasure of that small improvement was almost enough to make the cold places bearable. He could not mend himself, not entirely. He could share the discomfort, and shore up the edges of the spots in his mind that were torn. Ease them delicately together without truly repairing the damage. It would help mask the pain, let his thoughts run smoothly along familiar paths without barreling into an abyss.

He'd almost forgotten what warmth was like. He pressed into himself further, gently, gently. The heat crackled along nerve endings, spreading wonderfully.   
A brightness, a slightly rough texture that was desperately welcome faded in as the chill subsided a little. It was only a sensation, but what it meant was priceless beyond measure. He had to force himself not to react too strongly. He must take care not to injure... himself... either of him.

It was good to be this way, to be complete. Yes. It was desirable, it was... necessary to remain this way. The relief he felt at the return of the portion of himself that had been taken by the entity cut through the remaining pain like a knife. The force of it binding him even more tightly together with himself.  
Possessiveness curled around him, through him.

Unease. A current of it, rising up. The cold was starting to creep its way through to parts of himself it should not touch. He could not– No. He should...  
He was deep in his own mind. Deep and quite thoroughly tangled. It would take time, he must be delicate– No. He was tired, he was going to hurt himself, and he should stop. A little longer. Six point three seconds.

Something more solid and more difficult to ignore than affection filled the shared space inside himself, soothing the bite of the impending separation. When he moved to pull away from himself he found, to his momentary surprise, that he could not.

He was indeed tired. He tried again, every part of himself straining. The process was unpleasant, like peeling apart two objects that had been thoroughly glued together. Fortunately, the separation was clean. Unfortunately, it was quite impossible to complete.

Spock came back to himself and withdrew his fingers from Kirk's face, blinking hard. He reached out for the shelf behind Kirk's chair and leaned his weight against it to avoid falling on the deck.

Kirk looked stunned. Spock could understand the reaction.

Any connection they had shared before was nothing,  _nothing_  compared to the ravening thing he had now before him. After recognizing a link had formed between them Spock had tried hard to limit their mental contact. He had not attempted a full mind meld with the Captain in over a year. The merging of their minds had been effortless, almost instantaneous. He should have realized–

He should have–

His hand slipped on the shelf, fumbling, and Kirk was on his feet, one hand on Spock's arm. He was breathing hard, and looked pale, but seemed to be steadier than Spock was at the moment.

The difference in the force connecting them was almost frightening. He could feel it react as Jim touched him. An overwhelming warmth and a dismaying level of... of rightness, as though touching Jim was the correct and necessary thing to do. He could feel Jim's heart pounding, feel a dizzy kind of exultation as Jim reacquainted himself with a psyche not on the brink of disintegration.

Spock did not think that any Vulcan in the universe could look at what they now had and not consider them a married pair. Spock didn't believe he was even capable of trying to form a link with any other at this point. Even if he could he was nearly certain that when the time came he would turn to Jim. The connection was just too strong.

“Spock?” Jim said. He sounded like himself. He was relaxing away from the tension he'd been forced to maintain simply to function. The sensation was exquisite — after hours of desperately clinging to sanity, Jim could breathe again. There was pain and weariness there, but not so severe that Jim was unable to try and hide it. If nothing else, that was a triumph that Spock could not regret. Even if Spock now had to pay attention lest he drift into Jim's thoughts without meaning to.

Jim leaned close, his other hand coming up so that he had Spock by both arms. Spock swallowed hard and Jim shut his eyes. He felt a kind of flush in his extremities, a tingling in his hands and feet. Simply touching Jim was dangerously pleasing.

“What is this?” Jim asked him, his voice hushed and intense. Jim's breath was warm on his collarbone.

“You can feel it,” Spock replied, not entirely surprised. Spock had not been certain how much he could sense, but Spock did not often underestimate James T. Kirk.

“Yes,” Jim said, curious and unafraid. He pulled a hand away and flexed his fingers, looking at them as if he expected to find something on them. Jim gave Spock a considering look, as if measuring the likelihood that he might suddenly fall to the deck. Without comment, he returned his hand to its place at Spock's elbow. “What does it mean?”

The continued contact was alarmingly welcome. Spock wrestled with something close to euphoria, what was left of his control shredding. Jim's pupils were very large, and even if Spock had not known the truth from Jim thoughts, his outward appearance gave every indication of pleasure and arousal. Jim had felt Spock's reaction to the return of his thought patterns, could feel the connection now between them. This was Jim's response.

Spock felt as though something was falling away. Jim was looking at him, inquisitively and without alarm, expecting an answer.

It meant a great many things. That Jim was his. And he was–

“That I,” he replied softly, “am yours.” Spock looked directly into Jim's darkened eyes. “And that I always shall be yours.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, his face softening in something very like delight. He had not expected that answer. Spock could feel that he had just let loose some powerful emotions inside Jim, could feel them uncoiling inside him all at once.

Jim's eyes flicked down and looked at Spock's mouth, and Spock realized what was happening. He should have moved to stop him. He did not. He only braced himself for the emotional onslaught approaching, breathing in sharply.

Jim leaned forward and kissed him. His mouth was gentle, moving slowly against Spock's with an aching level of awareness, a tender knowledge of Spock's limits. The desire he evoked was enough to render Spock incapable of thought, or any action other than allowing him to continue, for several moments. He knew only the touch of Jim's mouth, and the thunderous roar of emotion loosed by it. Spock could not call Jim's action rash, or inadvised when it felt as though Jim knew all too well what he was doing. Jim kissed him carefully, waiting for him to regain the ability to process what was happening. Jim kissed him as though this was all he ever desired to do. The sense of completion was staggering, burning away any doubt Spock might have attempted to conceive of. He belonged here.

_T'hy'la..._

Spock grabbed onto him and pulled him closer. Jim needed to be closer, must be closer, must never be torn from him again–

Jim was kissing him with every ounce of skill, with every last drop of tender feeling he had. It was staggering, both to feel it, and to know so clearly how Jim felt as they entwined. Aroused was not the word. The sensation ached too badly, was too tender and too bright. Spock nearly crumbled in the face of it, his own reaction sideswiping him brutally.

Spock squinted in the glare of Jim's affection, and felt a wicked stab of pure relief stake through him. He was loved. He was loved. Spock made some small incoherent sound, and Jim broke away, pulling back and searching his face. Jim looked fierce and exhilarated, a man about to end a fight. Spock had seen that look on the bridge of the Enterprise, and on countless alien worlds. It was devastatingly, wonderfully familiar. An expression unique to this single, charismatic, essential individual. The lightning had struck — Jim now knew how to win — anything that followed was almost a formality.

Spock reached for panic and found only a desperate, lightheaded relief. He was simply too grateful to have Jim here, as himself, to feel anything else. The delight he felt at the sight of such an expression on Jim's face was too great to suppress. That abrupt surge of energy, that tightly controlled triumph, had often preceded moments where Captain Kirk was quite at his best. Spock had not thought he would ever again see... he had feared that he would never...

“Jim,” Spock said softly, and the fragility of his voice was shocking to his own ear.

Jim's eyes went dark. Before Spock could even gather enough presence of mind to be ashamed of himself, Jim had claimed his lips again. He kissed Spock, and this time there was nothing gentle about it. He pushed Spock back, up against the shelf and the grating behind his desk, pressing their bodies together. The motion drove Jim's erection hard against Spock's thigh.

The sensation caused a significant portion of Spock's cerebral cortex to cease performing any useful function.

With a sound distressingly reminiscent of a growl, Spock grabbed hold of the Captain's shirt, pivoted, and slammed him up against the bulkhead beside his dresser, crossing the room in two long steps. Jim let out a puff of air at the force Spock used. Spock realized, abruptly, that he was achingly erect, and was pressed hard up against Jim's hip.

It was as though the whole of his experience narrowed to that one point. A jolt of something too sweet to be pleasure. Then, Jim moved.

Spock was not entirely inexperienced in such matters – however, he had not prepared himself, could not think how he might have managed to prepare himself. He had desired this, and had repressed the desire for this too many times. He had not permitted himself even to think that he might–

Perhaps, perhaps if he had allowed himself... perhaps the reality would be manageable, somehow...

Spock's thoughts were disintegrating before he could fully form them. Jim was grinding himself quite firmly against Spock's thigh, and the physical sensations were... he could not–

Spock could not get his breath. The pressure on his heart was unbearable. His desire, now freed, was a frightening thing in its strength. He wished to crush Jim to him, to rend his clothing, to–

Jim's hand was pressing against Spock's erection.

Spock made a deeply embarrassing sound against Jim's mouth. He pushed Jim against the wall hard, trapping Jim's offending hand between them in a staggeringly pleasing manner. Jim responded by deliberately biting his lower lip as he drew back from his mouth.

Jim's reaction was a bright, visceral thing inside Spock's mind. Jim wished to penetrate him, wished to enter him and be entered by him. That knowledge in and of itself Spock might have been able to bear, but in addition to that simple desire there was a more complex one and it echoed Spock's own. Jim desired unity, in whatever form Spock was willing to offer it. He wished for Spock to be close, and to remain close, until all the days of his life had run through. It was a familiar ache, and finding it within Jim sent an ominous rumble through the foundations of Spock's thoughts.

If Spock had allowed himself to think of this as a possible outcome, knowing it was a fantasy he could not realize, he might have driven himself mad.

Spock thrust himself against Jim's hand once, hard. The pleasure of the act buried itself in him to the hilt, leaving him stunned and shaking. Jim made a short, desperate sound.

“Bed,” Jim said roughly. It was not a question, but Jim watched Spock's reaction closely, as if it was.

Spock swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He took half a step back, freeing Jim to move, if he wished. Spock looked down at Jim's lips, feeling slightly lightheaded. Lowering his head as though bowing to the inevitable, Spock kissed him.

Jim leaned into him, responding enthusiastically. Jim used his body, drawing out the kiss and maneuvering them both into his sleeping alcove. His hand slid beneath Spock's shirt deliciously. The sensation of Jim's palm against his bare skin was intensely desirable, and wishing to encourage more of it, Spock reached down and pulled at the interfering material. Jim realized what he was doing, stepped back and somewhat feverishly helped him get both his uniform shirt and his black undershirt up over his head.

Jim slid his hands down over Spock's ribcage as Spock's clothing fell to the floor. Spock had to fight hard not to crumble. Not to...to beg, to plead with him. To drop to his knees and give in utterly to his own weakness. He was not prepared for Jim to preempt him.

As Jim's hands slid down, Jim followed them, going down on one knee and looking up at him. His expression was pointed — as soon as Spock looked at him, he knew what Jim intended to do. Spock opened his mouth, and left it open, the sensual shock of the knowledge swelling his erection even further.

In response, Jim leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against the waistband of Spock's uniform pants. He exhaled a puff of breath over Spock's groin, and Spock fought not to stagger. Jim's hands tightened on his hips and Spock reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he let it rest on Jim's shoulder. Joining them in their mutual feeling.

The sensation was so intimate...

Jim unfastened Spock's pants, freeing his erection and dipping his head to enclose it in his mouth in one smooth motion.

Spock made a sharp, rough sound, making a fist in the gold cloth of his captain's uniform shirt as an arc of pleasure seared up into his stomach, spreading outward. He heard Jim take a breath, and then he began to suck. Spock felt as though he might incandesce. Blindly, he tried to anchor himself, in body and mind. In the instant he grasped feverishly, roughly, for the thoughts he yearned for, he felt Jim flinch away from him.

He tore himself away, horrified at what he might have done. Jim was wounded, his mind was fragile — he needed time to heal. Spock must take care, must control himself or Jim would pay the price.

He had recoiled a step and was breathing hard, one hand out as if to warn Jim away.

Jim was watching him with some amusement, his eyes dark with desire, and after a moment of confusion, Spock realized that Jim may have misunderstood his sudden need for distance. It brought home a necessary truth. James T. Kirk was a remarkable being, but he was only human. It was unlikely Jim had even consciously realized his own reaction to Spock's carelessness. Spock needed to protect him.

However, his desire to join with Jim, in body and mind, was at a level that was barely possible to contain. Spock curled his hands into fists as a desperate, obstinate frustration welled up. He looked down at Jim, knowing he could not force himself to leave the room, knowing that should he continue as he liked, the safety of Jim's mind was in jeopardy.

“Spock?” Jim asked him, his expression edging toward concern.

There must be an acceptable alternative.

“I,” Spock paused, to clear his throat. “I should like for you to penetrate me.” Safer. Safer for Jim.

Jim blinked, then swallowed hard. He gave Spock a look so dark and sensual that even someone completely ignorant of the situation would have perfectly understood his intent. He stood up, his movements confident. The look on Jim's face was distractingly anticipatory.

“Take off your pants,” he jerked his head toward the bed, “and get on the bed.”

His tone of voice would not have been out of place on the bridge. Spock was entirely unprepared for his reaction to that sort of command here, in such an intimate circumstance. It was quite... stimulating. Jim's eyes roamed over him knowingly, though Spock was almost entirely certain he'd given no outward reaction.

He removed his boots, then his pants, as Jim retreated to the 'fresher. Slowly, gingerly, he sat down on Jim's bed. It felt oddly impertinent. He looked up as Jim re-entered the room, and was caught off-guard when he saw that Jim had removed all of his clothing.

Spock had, over the years, seen Jim in various states of undress. He was not a large human being, but his physique was well developed and entirely... pleasing... to the eye. However, Spock had never observed him in such an obvious state of arousal. He felt a quick ripple of self-satisfaction to be the cause of it. Then Spock looked up and realized Jim was well aware of his admiration. Jim lifted his eyebrows and a corner of his mouth curled up into a knowing, good-humored smile. As though his was a reaction Jim had seen before.

Jim stepped to the end of the bed. His erection bobbed as he moved. It was flushed and the skin covering it appeared quite delicate. When Jim paused, it was engorged enough with blood that it rested almost completely flat against his stomach. Spock wanted to touch it. He would... he would like...  
He looked up, and Jim gave him a very gentle expression.

“Lie back,” he said quietly, shifting some-thing he held from one hand to the other. A small jar.

Spock complied, suddenly finding himself short of breath. Jim knelt on the bed, leaning over him. The position was exciting. He had hoped that it would be easier to control this way, but–

Jim lowered himself on his arms, as if to kiss him, but it was not his lips that touched Spock first. Jim's erection touched Spock's, and Spock jerked and gasped at the contact. He pressed up against Jim as his brain whited out, the shock of the touch too much to process rationally. The pressure increased deliciously as Jim settled himself against Spock's body, shifting to bring the point of pleasure between them to its height.

Jim thrust against him once. Once, and then–

Spock was kissing him, desperately, ravenously, and Jim was groaning into his mouth as they came together with thoughtless grasping fervor. They thrust against each other savagely. Jim's erection was an ache against his own, the pleasure tangled in the rough desperation of their joining, edging towards discomfort. Spock did not care. He could feel Jim, could feel every inch of him, they were so close. It was a delight, and he only wanted more.

There was something from Jim then, a chill of panic, and Jim pushed back, pulling himself away.

“Ah,” he said, breathing hard. “Wait. Just–” He let his head drop, his hands clenching on the bed covers. The tightening in his groin was reaching dangerous levels. “Just a minute.” Spock felt him fighting on the edge of climaxing, and he found it so arousing he had to restrain himself from launching up from the bed, from pinning Jim down beneath him and forcing that loss of control. 

Spock shut his eyes, concentrated on controlling his own over-sensitized responses. He heard Jim sit back on the bed, heard him sigh. The sound of hands rubbing over naked thighs. Then, the sound of a container being opened. Something wet squelching faintly between fingers.

“All right,” Jim said softly. His hand, his dry hand touched Spock at the knee and trailed up the inside of Spock's thigh. He applied pressure, silently urging Spock to lift his leg, bending it at the knee in a comfortable position. Then the other, his dry hand brushing accidentally against Spock's erection, making him twitch.

Unable to resist, Spock barely opened his eyes to look. Jim was leaning between his spread thighs, his face quite close to Spock's groin. The sight brought a stab of want — for Jim to lean down, and take him once again into his mouth.

Jim reached down, searching for the right place, and Spock felt a tingling brush of cool moisture.

He was not entirely inexperienced — he was aware of what was in the jar, was aware of its reputation. He was not certain of the effectiveness, having never used it himself, but was pleasantly surprised as Jim's finger found the correct spot and began to gently ease inside. The substance had some rather unique properties. As a Vulcan, Spock had more than enough control over his own muscles to allow intercourse in this manner with a minimum of preparation. However, he found that the addition of this particular cream aided his relaxation wonderfully. As Jim continued, Spock found himself continuing to revise his opinion of said substance upward repeatedly.

Spock made a small noise of approval as Jim pressed his fingers into him deeply. The proximal nerve endings were pleasantly alight with the stimulation. In response, Jim leaned down and took the tip of his erection into his mouth.

Spock choked, caught between two points of pleasure. Jim teased the tip of his penis gently with lips and tongue, and thrust into him again with his fingers. Spock hissed in a breath and grasped tightly onto the bed covers beneath him. Jim repeated his actions, twisting his fingers slightly as he moved them, sucking lightly on the head of his penis.

“I will ejaculate, if you continue,” Spock told him, very shortly. Jim paused in his actions and stared at him. He could tell he had said or done something that Jim approved of, as Jim's level of arousal had just taken another jump.

Jim removed his fingers. “Good,” Jim replied softly, his voice nearly a full octave lower than it usually was in everyday conversation. Jim shifted his weight, glancing down, and his erection brushed against the right spot. Spock caught his breath, utterly captivated by the sensation. Jim's fingers caressed him, making certain they were positioned correctly. Spock could feel some last vestige of self-control snap when Jim began to press himself inside, blunt and slick. Spock made a small, shocked sound.

“Easy,” Jim soothed, sounding somewhat strained. He continued to press forward slowly, then backed off before he had come close to sheathing himself, shifting his hips as if to give Spock time to adjust.

The sensation was startling and arousing. Jim passed one hand over his stomach, his affection and desire setting Spock's skin alight. Then, carefully, Jim moved against him once more, pushing forward until they were totally joined.

He paused, and looked down at Spock, looking quite exhilarated.

“All right?” he asked, his eyes bright.

Somewhat breathless, and aching with the abrupt pause, Spock reached out and gripped both of Jim's arms above the elbow. Physically, they were joined.

Physically, they were one, and something in him deperately wished to make the joining complete.

“Proceed,” he managed, sounding somewhat... distracted... to his own ear. He shut his eyes. “Please.”

Jim let out a breath and pulled back, thrusting into Spock gently. Spock's body curled, his abdominal muscles clenching tightly at the jolt of pleasure Jim's action brought him. He was... he was clamping down on Jim's arms too tightly. He forced himself to release his grip, breathing hard.

“Oh,” Jim said raggedly. “God,” he thrust again, harder, and Spock let slip a small moan in grateful reaction. He could not have... he could not have known...could not possibly have imagined–

Jim stopped. Spock looked up at him, struggling with himself not to grab Jim, to force him to continue.

Jim stretched himself out over Spock's body, pressing Spock's erection between them, and kissed him. Without withdrawing, Jim pressed himself closer. Not thrusting, simply moving over Spock's body, his hips shifting as his mouth moved against Spock's. The sensation was delightful and it felt oddly, completely natural, as if this was something he was always meant to do. Jim's mind, his thoughts were right there, so close, aching to become one as their bodies were one. Jim was very near to climax already. The relief, the pleasure, was too great having been too long denied.

Jim pulled back, only slightly, but Spock's arms tightened around him in silent warning. Smiling and breathless, Jim's hand slid between them, his fingers curling around Spock's erection. He thrust against Spock again, almost testing, as his hand moved over Spock's penis. The dual sensations were formidable, feeding off each other, every movement of Jim inside him drawing the sensitivity of his erection even higher. Spock shut his eyes, truly shameful sounds slipping past his lips.

His hands were sure and skilled against Spock's skin. Jim was delighting in this total loss of control. Comfortable to be so exposed, electrified that he was experiencing this with Spock, finally... god, after so long...

“Jim,” Spock said harshly, beginning to tense, his body and mind singing, surging toward Jim. Jim was sweating, he was sweating as they came together. It was strange and unbelievably arousing. Jim pressed his face against Spock's chest, panting cool air against Spock's skin. An exotic sensation, and so  _wet_.

Spock could feel Jim's pleasure like an wound in his side. Jim was melting into him, their bodies moving together as though they were meant to do this and only this, always. Two parts of one whole. The rightness of this was staggering.

“Yes,” Jim gasped, his own tension winding taut, his erection aching, “yes,” he groaned.

Spock could not possibly... he could not possibly...

_Yes, T'hy'la_ –

Spock let loose a hoarse, disbelieving sound, and climaxed. Above him, inside him, Jim was there, gasping his own release, his mind and body singing with joy.

Oh, this was his, his Jim, this was necessary, this oneness, it was–

The first shock of pain was not small, and came without warning.

Spock had felt many different kinds of pain. He knew what a serious, organ-damaging injury felt like. He knew how the body recoiled from it, heartbeat going thready and quick. How shock made the mind reel, and sapped all strength.

It felt as though he had been shot. Beaten. Fallen from a great height. The first jolt of pain utterly stunned him, whiting out all thought. His body tried to begin to shut down in the face of it, his heartbeat faltering. On reflex, Spock attempted to take hold of himself, to alter his internal functions in the face of some terrible injury. But he knew as soon as he tried that the pain was not from his body, but from his mind.

Something had... something had torn his thoughts and it was... It was cold.

Spock looked up in horror, blackness already moving in at the edges of his vision.

Jim was frozen above him, his face contorted in agony.

“Spock,” Jim choked out, and his eyes rolled back. He went limp, falling to one side, into the darkness.

\-------------------------------------------------

Spock hissed in a breath, tensing on the bed. He had lost time, and he felt ill. There was a weight pinning his arm and he looked towards it, his heart contracting sharply in his side.

Jim lay beside him, white and still.

No–

Spock rolled over, shoving himself off the bed, reaching for Jim. The instant he touched Jim's face, a spike of pain drove itself cleanly through Spock's skull, threatening to snatch his consciousness away once more. Spock struggled for a long moment on the edge of collapse, fighting with his own body. He forced constricted arteries to dilate, forced his heart to slow and his breathing to deepen.

Spock blinked hard, and shook his head. Jim was alive. He was alive, and injured.

Spock reached for the comm unit, fumbled for a moment with his own memory before he recalled the correct way to operate it.

He paused. He was calling — who was he–?

“Doctor McCoy,” he said, realizing as he said the words that they were correct. Yes. Doctor McCoy could help. He looked around. He was — this place was... “the captain's quarters. Doctor McCoy to the captain's quarters immediately.”

Spock sat back on his heels and rubbed his face. He was so cold, why was he–He was not wearing his uniform. Spock looked down with a start of surprise.

Neither was the captain.

Gently, Spock grasped his shoulder. “Jim,” the anguish in his own voice sounded strange, to his ear. Spock rolled him over, onto his back. At the sight of his face, memory slid into place like the blade of a knife.

Jim's mind was fragile, and Spock had hurt him. Spock had not been in control of himself, and he had injured him. He could not tell how badly. Jim could be permanently damaged. He could never be the same again.

Spock recoiled from him, stepping off the bed, stumbling back when he found that his legs were not entirely steady. He braced himself on the half wall that separated Jim's bed from the rest of his quarters, and covered his face.

He knew nothing for several seconds. There was only pain.

After a moment, he wrenched his hand away. He shook his head. He had done this, because he could not control. He had done this because he had failed to control himself. Spock curled his hands into fists. Something black and bitter welled up, filling him whole.

He straightened up, he took a breath, he forced it aside. He must not — he must never again–

This must never happen again.

Doctor McCoy. Doctor McCoy was on his way. Viciously squashing a trickle of dread, Spock quickly located his pants, and dressed himself. He paused as he fastened them, regarding Jim on the bed.

The captain lay sprawled and nude. Even with pain pinching his features, he was quite striking, visually. Spock shoved down a rising tide of despair. Carefully, Spock pulled the blanket free, and folded it up, draping it over Jim's waist. He let his hand rest on Jim's arm for a moment.

If he were human, he would no doubt desire to apologize. To beg him for forgiveness. Spock had failed him. If he were–

The door buzzed. Spock straightened up, feeling heavy and weak, and forced his mind toward some semblance of logic. Turning from Jim, he called to the doctor.   
\-------------------------------  
  
Doctor McCoy heard somebody tell him to come in, and stepped through Jim's door to come face to face with Spock, without a shirt on.  
Momentarily derailed, McCoy stopped and blinked at him.

“Spock,” he began. Where's your– “What's the...” his eyes slid right, and saw who was on the bed. McCoy reacted instinctively to his pallor, rushing forward. Jim was white as an embalmed corpse.

“Jim!” McCoy brought up his scanner, and flinched at what he saw. “Spock, what the hell happened to him?”

He snapped his head around to pin Spock to the wall with a glare, and was just in time to see him flinch. Giving him an incredulous look, McCoy turned back to Jim, selecting a hypo. He was trying to figure out why the hell Jim's vitals were through the floor and his body temperature was about six degrees lower than it should be. It wasn't much lower than 23 Celsius in here. It didn't make sense.

Until McCoy checked his brain activity. He checked it twice, just to make sure. Then he gave Jim quite a few new hyposprays, as fast as he could give them.

When he was satisfied Jim was stable, he turned slowly, and looked at Spock.

“What did you do,” he said in a deadly voice. To be fair, he didn't really mean it. But something had happened, and the only other person in the room was Spock. And if nothing had happened, that meant that McCoy had missed something, and let Jim wander off somewhere to die suddenly on his own without medical attention. He was a lot more comfortable just blaming Spock. He wasn't expecting Spock to recoil back from him, and knock Jim's plant off the shelf onto the floor.

It spilled dirt on the carpet. They both looked at that for a minute.

Then Spock straightened up like he was being arraigned. “I have injured him, doctor.”

“You?” McCoy snapped. Spock lowered his head and shut his eyes.

Belatedly, McCoy started to feel like the world was tilted at an angle, and he hadn't noticed until now. He stared, for a second, at Spock's bare chest. Then down at Jim on the bed, who was also minus a shirt.

Course, that wasn't exactly unusual. The way Jim was wrapped in the blanket was a little weird, though. Frowning, McCoy lifted the blanket up, and unintentionally got an eyeful. Nothing he hadn't seen before, but it caused several puzzle pieces to connect with a little snap.

“Damn,” McCoy said faintly. He dropped the blanket, and looked over at Spock with shock and pity fighting it out in his head. He supposed he'd seen this one coming a long way off.

They had hellish timing, though. But it did prove a suspicion McCoy had been nursing for a while, that Spock really could blame himself for anything.

McCoy sighed, and signaled sickbay to send a stretcher.

“What is his condition?” Spock asked, when he was through. He sounded extremely... small, and McCoy started to feel bad for not 'fessing up immediately. He felt bad enough.

“He's in a coma,” McCoy said. “I had to induce one as soon as I saw his scans.” Jim would probably be out for weeks while he healed. McCoy was real clear on that because he'd spent the better part of two days in sickbay, looking at the crewmembers he already had healing in comas and cursing the universe for being a cold-hearted bastard.

McCoy winced, and went for broke.

“It's not your fault, Spock, it's my fault. I must have missed something. Maybe if I'd have caught it sooner...” McCoy trailed off, looking down at the bed. He shook his head. “Jim was held by those things for a long time. I should have checked more thoroughly, kept him in sickbay longer.”

Spock, to McCoy's surprise, briefly looked like he was considering falling on the floor.

“You did indeed 'miss something', doctor, but I'm afraid that the captain's current condition is most certainly due to my actions, and my actions alone.” Spock sounded so dog-tired McCoy wanted to pat him on the arm.

“Spock,” McCoy began, almost gently “I don't think–”

“Please, Doctor,” Spock cut in, his voice rough. He shut his eyes briefly, and it almost looked like he was fighting pain. Then Spock straightened up, looking at him evenly, as calm and put-together as if they were talking about the ships sensors or something. “I trust you can care for the captain. I must make my report to Starfleet Command.”

McCoy realized all at once, looking at Spock in that little moment of calm, that Spock was trying not to fall apart. This was Spock a hair from going to pieces. It was as plain as the nose on his face.

He'd talk to whoever was on communications while Uhura was in sickbay. Nothing Spock was liable to put in a report at the moment would be anything Starfleet ought to read.

Spock's eyes slid down to look at Jim, and damned it if wasn't almost touching to see Spock go all soft like that. But then Spock had to shut his eyes again, and McCoy almost went over there just to make sure to catch him when he keeled over.

He caught himself, though, shook his head a little, looked up at McCoy as if nothing at all was wrong with him. “Please keep me advised on the captain's condition.”

McCoy looked at him carefully, concerned. “Of course,” he replied.

Spock dipped his head, then bent to retrieve his shirt from where it had been tossed on the floor. McCoy had been giving it even money that he'd even remember.

McCoy took this time to pretend to fuss over Jim. In reality he was debating between waiting until Spock turned his back and giving him a hypo full of something that would put him out for a week, and biding his time until he got Jim taken care of in sickbay, and cornering Spock in his quarters.

Surreptitiously, McCoy pointed his scanner at Spock's back as he bent to retrieve his boots. The results were... not what he was expecting.

Spock stopped, and stared at him. Caught out.

Slowly, McCoy approached. Spock tensed suspiciously.

“Spock, my team is going to be here in less than a minute,” McCoy began in a gentle tone of voice. “And I'm pretty sure you don't want to stick around for the rumor mill to start up.” He held up a hypo. “But I need to give you this now, and when I show up in your quarters in fifteen minutes, I need you to let me in, let me give you an examination, and tell me just what the hell is going on. Now, do we have a deal, or do I have to tackle you?”

Spock looked at the hypo, then at McCoy. McCoy couldn't ever recall Spock looking quite so beat down.

“Force,” Spock began, “will not be necessary.” If Vulcans had gallows humor, that was it.

He gave Spock the hypo. Spock paused before walking out.

“If you should decide to file charges–” he began.

“–File charges?” McCoy interrupted incredulously. Spock looked over at Jim, on the bed. McCoy's stomach sank right down into his boots. His intuition was howling at him already. Bad things were on the way, he could smell it in the air.

“Spock, I'm not going to–”

“Doctor.” Spock said firmly, then continued. “I will understand, should you choose to do so.” Spock had a look about him McCoy had seen before. He walked out of the room like a new bachelor walking toward his ex-wife.

McCoy looked down at Jim's readings. Spock's had been similar enough to Jim's for him to sit up and take notice. Similar enough that he was going to push that fifteen minutes. McCoy could accept that he made a mistake with Jim. But he'd had Spock on his table not two hours ago, and his scans hadn't been anywhere near as bad as the ones McCoy had just taken. So either there was some weird effect that was only hurting the two of them — which given who he was talking about, wasn't entirely impossible — or that guilt on Spock's face was there for some other reason than sheer stubbornness.

Spock knew what was going on. He knew where this tale was headed. McCoy just wasn't sure he was going to like finding out.

Jim was alive, and McCoy had too much faith in the man's mind-bending luck to believe he wouldn't heal eventually. After everything he'd seen Jim pull off, he wouldn't quit poking at Jim's body until two weeks after calling time of death. But, looking at Spock's face before he left... he could damn near smell that funeral pyre lighting up, and Spock had the look of a man ready and eager to jump in.

The thing that made him really nervous was that the danger was over, and the scuttlebutt was that they would be putting in for home soon. So Spock couldn't throw himself in front of something half certain to kill him, and he wasn't likely to work himself to death when their work was coming to an end, at least for the moment. So what the hell was that damn fool Vulcan going to do?

His team buzzed the door. McCoy let them in.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TBC  
> This story was initially conceived as the first part of a two-part story. One set before TMP, and one set after. The one set after isn't done. But I think this stands on its own all right for now.


End file.
